


Stormseeker: Blight of Dragons

by Serriya (Keolah)



Series: Stormseeker Saga [7]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Geneforge, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Bisexual Male Character, Canon - Video Game, Canon Era, Crossover, Dimension Travel, Drama, Established Relationship, Humor, Immortality, Mages, Magic, Multi, NaNoWriMo, POV First Person, Present Tense, Swearing, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 219,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keolah/pseuds/Serriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexen, the interdimensional time traveler, goes to explore the world of Thedas. But this is the first world he's been to where being a mage seems to be treated as more of a crime than a privilege.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New Lives

My name is Lexen Chelseer. The Stormseeker, the Elkandu call me, but that's a pretentious title I rarely use myself. I'm an immortal time traveler. I don't _need_ any pretentious titles.

I wake in Torn Elkandu, use my Time Magic to age myself up to twenty-five, get dressed, and head outside. I make my way to the Nexus and travel to Wizarding Earth, and retrieve Tom Riddle, Gellert Grindelwald, and the house-elf Rispy.

"So, where are we headed next, m'dear?" Tom asks once we're back in Torn Elkandu.

"Someplace new, I think," I say.

"Ah, good," Gellert says. "I think I've broken out of Nurmengard as many times as is amusing, by this point."

"Let's see what Keolah has available," Tom says. "We've got six hours to decide, after all."

Six hours before the Dark Elkandu come sweeping through this city again, slaughtering everyone in sight.

_The voices of my young cousins, screaming as Sedder kills them slowly, draining their very life away..._

I shudder involuntarily at a memory that I can never forget. It's why I'm doing this, after all. Why I'm seeking power and knowledge across the multiverse.

"Where would you like to go today?" asks Keolah, suddenly noticing us.

The way the silver-eyed elf woman stares off at nothing while supposedly monitoring the Nexus, it's easy to forget that she's even there, especially considering that she forgets anyone else is there as well.

"We're looking for a school of magic," Gellert says.

"There's one just down the street," Keolah says, pointing off in the direction I just came from. "The School of Thought."

I shake my head. "Not that one. We're looking for alternative perspectives."

In my early loops, I'd tried to explain to Keolah the danger she was in. But she took it as she did anything else, without any real alarm. I've long since given up on bothering.

"Oh, I see," Keolah says. "Here, I'll find you some options, then."

In a moment, swirling images of distant lands appear in the air before her, depicting towers and castles and buildings of all sorts.

"I really don't care where we go or whether I get to learn or use any magic at all," Rispy says. "I'm just glad to be out of that world."

"I thought you'd wanted to free the house-elves, Rispy," I say.

We make for a strange team. Two former Dark Lords, an elf of a completely different (and much shorter) species than Keolah, and one time traveler who can't die and just goes back in time instead. With the souls of the others tied to me so that they get dragged along behind me like so much flotsam in the seas of time.

"If, after eighty years, they still don't want to be free, I don't think there's anything I can do about it," Rispy says with a sigh. "If they _choose_ to be slaves, the best I could do was make sure that they weren't mistreated."

Tom smirked. "Perhaps you will be something else entirely in the next life."

Rispy snorted. "Maybe _you_ will be, too. It was awfully disorienting merging my memories like that, when it turned out there were two Rispies trying to occupy the same space."

"What should we do if that happens to any of us again?" I ask.

"Try to keep our cover, but we should contact each other to at least find out where we're all at," Gellert says. "But failing all else, we'll be able to meet up again later and compare notes."

"And if any emergency arises, Lexen will be able to tell that we've died, and be able to reset the day," Tom says. "At least Rispy's now the only one of us that can't cast a Patronus Charm, so we can send a message if necessary."

I give a nod. "I'll keep an eye on our soul bonds and force a reset of the day if anyone dies. Or if anyone requests one." That is, kill myself in order to go back in time. I should probably be more squeamish about that than I am, but I have a strange existence.

"We should probably try to avoid getting separated," Tom says.

"No kidding," I say. "And I can't go back further than the last time I slept -- or fell unconscious -- unless I get hit with a Killing Curse. And I doubt I can cast one on myself. I don't hate myself that much." I smirk.

Gellert snorts softly and shrugs. "You get too caught up in the events of any individual world. You really ought to relax more. It doesn't matter what's happening around us, so long as _we_ get through it all. And most importantly, that we can gain power from it."

I don't even bother to glare at him. "Just do try to avoid killing people before I've had a chance to at least try to talk my way out of things?"

"Right, right," Gellert says, smirking. "I know how much fun you have fighting with words."

"That's not what I-- oh, never mind," I say, sighing and rolling my eyes.

"Alright, Lexen," Tom says. "You get the honors. Pick a school, any school."

"Hmm," I say, looking over the images more closely. "How about this one?" I point to a tower on a lake. "Kinloch Hold, the Circle Tower in Ferelden, on the world of Thedas."

"Towers," Gellert says. "Classic."

"Anything we ought to know about this place, Keolah?" Tom asks.

Keolah shrugs uselessly. "No idea. We don't really have much information on this world. Hmm, let's see. There appear to be humans, elves, and dwarves, at least."

"Very helpful," I say dryly.

"And there's mages," she adds. "In that there tower. And some other places like it, too. Ooh, what are those weird horned guys? Oh, hey, this place can't be all bad, there's dragons here!"

"Great!" I exclaim, clapping my hands together gleefully.

Gellert just looks at me strangely. "I don't know what is up with your unhealthy fascination with dragons, but before we go, I'm going to make a bet that one or all of us gets eaten by one at some point."

"I don't bet," I say.

"I'll take that bet," Rispy says with a smirk.

Keolah raises her hands, and the glowing runes on the Nexus flicker for a moment. "I have the Nexus calibrated for your destination for you," Keolah says. "Have a nice trip. Whoever you guys are."

"Thanks, Keolah," I say, stepping into the Nexus along with my friends.

Keolah activates the Nexus, and glowing mists surround us to take us away.

When the fog clears, I find myself standing on the shore of a lake. Alone. Well, it would appear that not one, but _all_ of my companions have an equivalent in this world. I didn't really expect that, but I suppose we prepared for that possibility.

Alright. I appear to have landed out of sight of anyone nearby. There looks to be an inn nearby, and a ferry at the shore of the lake to take people across to the tower, which is situated on a small, rocky island.

I do a little spying around first, and spot some commoners milling about outside the inn. I scurry out of sight and carefully transfigure my clothing to look more like theirs. No sense in confusing the locals with my blue jeans.

I almost have to envy my companions. They'll be able to blend in easy, what with having been born into this world. Why don't I ever run into equivalents of myself? Maybe I will eventually. Or maybe there's only one me. I don't know.

Now, to see how things are handled here. I go up to the ferry. There's another man in common clothing there, as well as one clad entirely in heavy plate armor. He's probably the more important one. I go to address the armored man.

"Pardon me, sir," I say.

"Oy, what do you need?" asks the man. If this weren't another world entirely, I might think he were from London.

"I was wondering what age you normally take mages," I ask.

"As soon as we can get them, generally," he replies. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I've brought my son, you see," I say. "He's only six, but he's already started doing accidental magic."

"Ah, good that you've brought him, then," the man says. "Don't want anyone to get hurt or anything. Bring him here, and we'll get him squared away, don't you worry."

"That sounds sensible," I say. "I'll send him right over. His name is Lexen."

I head over out of sight to do the old switcheroo, shift my age down to six years old and transfigure my clothing appropriately, then come back out to approach the armored man again.

"Hello there, son," says the man. "You must be Lexen. You look just like your dad."

I wave and nod to him shyly, shifting from foot to foot and trying to play the part of a six year old kid as best as I can.

"Come along, then. You'll be safe with us."

I'm taken across the lake in a boat. I'd forgotten how everything seems absolutely enormous to a six year old. I just hope I can remember how to _act_ like a six year old.

Once in the tower, I'm quickly shuffled along to quarters for young apprentices. My heart leaps when I hear that one of the other apprentices around my apparent age is named Gellert. That can't be a common name around here, can it?

Sure enough, he certainly _looks_ like I remember, as a little kid at least. Surprising, really, given how different Rispy was in each world, but I suppose it stands to reason if he were actually able to be born as the right species.

"Hello?" Gellert says tentatively, eyes widening as he sees me.

I smile at him brightly. "I'm Lexen Chelseer."

"My name is Gellert Amell," he replies. He glances around furtively, and makes a gesture and mutters, " _Muffliato_."

Good idea, I think. Best to get back into the habit of casting spells for privacy whenever we discuss any sensitive information, to make sure that we're not overheard by anyone unfortunate. The wrong people finding out about the time travel business can lead to some very unpleasant situations.

"I see you got in here alright," Gellert says. "I was a little surprised to find myself already here. Rispy was right, this _is_ disorienting. Well, at least this six year old version of me didn't have many memories to conflict with mine."

I give a nod. "I don't suppose you know anything about what to expect here?"

"Not really," Gellert says. "Little six year old Gellert was young and confused, got shuffled off to this tower the minute somebody saw him -- me -- do accidental magic. I haven't really been here long, myself. Where's Tom and Rispy?"

"No idea," I say. "They weren't with me when I arrived, so I assume they also wound up in other versions of 'themselves'."

"We should try to figure out where they are," Gellert says. "I don't fancy blindly mucking about until we run into them by chance."

"You're right," I say. "Let's see if we can find some privacy and get messages off to them."

"We don't know what sort of situations they might be in," Gellert says. "How about I stun you, and we send the messages off, and then reset so that nobody else will remember seeing them?"

"Good idea," I say.

Some of the other children were looking over toward us curiously, as if wondering what we were up to, but they wouldn't be able to understand anything through our privacy charm. Ignoring them, we head off to find a place where we can safely summon glowing spirit animals without being noticed. There's no way that normal six year olds should be able to do that, if that spell is even known in this world.

However, few places in the apprentice quarters allow for any privacy. There are no doors on any smaller areas, no private rooms, and the closest thing we can find is a large wardrobe. That'll have to do, I suppose. We climb inside, pushing aside robes to make room for ourselves.

"Good thing we're little kids," Gellert mutters. "And to think, it's been a long time since I've bothered to hide the fact that I'm gay, and here I am, in the closet again."

I pull out my wand and set up every spell I know in order to ensure that we're not disturbed and that hopefully no one will detect any surges of magic use from our vicinity. Once that's done, I nod to Gellert to stun me. He lifts a hand, and a flash of red light blacks out the world for a moment before he revives me again.

"Alright, let's do this," I say. "Tom first, since he can actually reply." I think of the rainbow after the storm over the Black Lake. All strife will pass. All troubles are fleeting. Life goes on. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

Silvery, translucent light erupts from the tip of my wand and coalesces into the form of a spirit duck, glowing faintly and looking to me expectantly.

"Alright, ducky," I say. "Can you find Tom, and ask him where he is? Maybe he doesn't look exactly like I remember him, but you can find him anyway, can't you?"

The duck gives me a look as if I'm silly for doubting its capabilities, and then spins around in a tight little circle before darting off into nowhere.

A few minutes later, a transparent silver snake appears in the wardrobe between Gellert and I. It opens its mouth and speaks in Tom's voice, "I am uncertain as to my exact location at the moment. My name is apparently Thomas Hawke here, and I am eight years old. I have a family. A mother, father, two younger siblings... My father is a wizard, and my mother is not. It would appear that I'm a half-blood again, but the other way around this time. My father is teaching me about magic. Where are you, my dear?"

I summon my duck again and send a reply. "Tell Tom that Gellert and I are in the Circle Tower like we'd planned. We're not sure where Rispy came in yet. Will you be alright wherever you are?"

The snake comes back once more and says, "I'll be fine. It'll take some getting used to, actually having a family like this. A family of my own. So strange. But anyway, my father wants to teach me himself and keep me out of the tower. We could get two different perspectives on how magic is used here? Keep updated on any major happenings and compare notes later?"

"Will do," I reply. "We might be in this tower for a while, ourselves. If you get the chance, can you see if you can find Rispy? I'll pass along any information I get about him."

"Alright." The spirit snake vanishes one last time after delivering its message.

"My turn," Gellert says, grinning and brandishing the Elder Wand. " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

The bird that emerges from _his_ wand is arguably more majestic than my duck. His Patronus is a shimmering silver phoenix. Just like Albus. I wonder, if someone's Patronus typically matches that of their lover, why are Tom's and mine different? That's not a question I have an answer to right now, though.

"I want you to find our dear friend, Rispy," Gellert tells his Patronus. "I know he's not going to be a house-elf in this world, but you can still find him, right? Of course you can. He shares a bit of our souls. Anyway, give him this message. Lexen and I are in the Circle Tower like we planned, and Tom is somewhere out in the world. I know you have no way to immediately contact us, but if you can find some way to get a message to the Circle Tower to let us know where -- and _who_ \-- you are, that'd be great. Good luck, Rispy."

As the phoenix Patronus zips off to deliver the message, I just have to say, "Are you _trying_ to doom him?" I smirk.

"Just because you think luck hates _you_ doesn't mean all of us think that fortune will never favor us," Gellert says, smirking right back at me.

"I just don't like to rely on chance," I say. "If I could control every aspect of how something would turn out without having to rely on unknown factors, I would."

"Bah, what would be the fun of that?" Gellert says.

"What's the fun of getting your plans ruined by things you couldn't predict?"

"It beats getting your plans ruined by things you should have predicted but weren't willing to acknowledge the possibility of actually happening." Gellert shakes his head, and dismisses the momentary melancholy, returning to his usual cheerful expression. "Rispy should've gotten the message by now. Let's go back to when I stunned you, just in case poor Rispy was in public when my Patronus showed up."

"Right," I say. I focus on my Time Magic to change my age, this time turning it down as far as it will go. My body rapidly shrinks until I wink out of existence. A much less painful means of committing suicide than drinking poison or something.

I wake up in the wardrobe again. This way, they will have gotten the messages still, and remember them because they were dragged back with me, but no one in _this_ timeline will have had a chance to intercept them.

"Hope those two don't run into any problems," I say.

Gellert snorts softly. "They'll be fine, I'm sure. They're big boys. They can take care of themselves. They'll know where to find us if need be, and Tom can send his snake Patronus at us again if he wants to get in touch."

I'll miss them, to be sure, but I guess I can handle not being around them constantly. I nod. "Let's just focus on learning what we can about how they use magic here -- and the world itself."

"We've got a lot to learn," Gellert says. "Exciting, isn't it?" He grins mischievously.

"You're going to be no end of trouble, aren't you," I say dryly.

"Who, me?" Gellert says innocently, going to undo the privacy spells and climb out of the wardrobe. "This is going to be fun!"

* * *

I'm adjusting to life in the tower. If anything, being a young child is easier since I'm not expected to know much of anything, and nobody will think it odd if I ask some strange questions at times. Since they seem to be more welcoming than the Shapers in Terrestia were, I decide to do some exploring and test where the limits of their tolerance might be. That will also, most likely, be more likely to slide now than when I am older.

And along with my explorations, I take a piece of parchment and start casting increasingly complicated charms over it. First the basics, to prevent it from being easily destroyed, but then once those are in place, I start trying to craft a version of the Marauder's Map for Kinloch Hold. Sirius's charms were very complex, however. How did he and his friends manage something like this when they were _actually_ Hogwarts age?

" _Muffliato_ ," I murmur, approaching Gellert and getting him relatively alone in a corner of the apprentice dorms, hunched over a large picture book. I pretend to be looking at it, but I slip the parchment down on top of it. "Can you help me with this?"

"Oh, hey, you're making one of those maps?" Gellert says. "Great! Yeah, let's see what you've got here, hmm..."

"I got the contingency spell to activate it and blank the paper again working," I say. "But I'm having trouble getting dots identifying people's locations to show up."

Gellert taps the parchment with the Elder Wand and says, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He smirks at the words and lines that cover the parchment. "Stormseeker presents, the Marauder's Map: Kinloch Hold edition?"

"Yeah," I say. "What do you want your Marauder name to be?" I grin at him.

"I thought you hated that title," Gellert says.

"Eh," I say. "Sure, it's a bit pretentious, but it _is_ my title."

"You could always pick something else," Gellert says. "You could call yourself whatever you want."

"Yeah, but that wouldn't really be me, would it?" I say.

"Why not?" Gellert says. "You're as much you as anything. You're always you. What you're calling yourself at any given moment won't change that."

"I dunno..." I say.

"Call yourself Ducky!" Gellert says with a wild grin.

"Ducky," I repeat flatly.

"Sure! Why not?"

"How about not?" I smirk.

"Fine," Gellert says, rolling his eyes. "Well, if you're going to be pretentious, so am I. Put me down as 'Phoenix', then. Because, you know, I was reborn out of the ashes and saved from being a Dark Lord by the power of love, and all that rot."

"You totally weren't," I say. "But let's just go with that." I snicker softly.

"Or you could just go with Ducky, and I'll pick something less pretentious."

"Phoenix it is," I say, carefully adding that to the charms.

"Face it, you actually like being pretentious."

"Do you know how to get the dots to show up?" I ask, changing the subject.

"Let's see what I can do."

It's even more difficult to do delicate charms with our fingers or with wands strapped to our wrists, but we don't dare risk anyone noticing that we have them and taking them away from us. There's no way we'll be able to get replacements in this world. While we're perfectly capable of using wandless magic, they're still useful tools to increase power and precision. It's like finger-painting as opposed to using a suitable brush for the job.

Gellert grumbles a bit. "Are people staring? Bah, I'm going to take this into the wardrobe to see about doing some work on it."

While he goes to do that, I head off to do some more exploring. This place is extensive, but it's probably going to be a lot easier to map out than Hogwarts. It doesn't seem to be quite so eager to move around or make spaces that connect to one another magically, or are larger on the inside than the outside. Still, there's a lot to see here, nonetheless.

The libraries in the tower are massive, and not even just to the eyes of a six year old. I think I could probably spend an entire lifetime in here and not manage to read everything, even with the speedreading abilities I'd picked up in Terrestia. But, it would be suspicious to do too much reading at this age, so I just skim over the titles at the moment. I'm eager to learn, but as Gellert said, I have to be patient.

I wind up wandering into what looks like someone's office. There are probably some interesting and doubtless private things in here. I go to poke around, skimming the titles of the books on one shelf. They sound far more advanced and dangerous than most of the ones in the main libraries. As I look around, I hear the door open and someone come in behind me. I spin around in alarm, looking wide-eyed to the old robed man who just entered.

"Well, hello there," he says. "And who might you be, young lad?"

"Lexen," I reply, looking up at him. "You?"

"I am First Enchanter Irving."

"Oh," I say. "That sounds important. Is this your place?"

"I'm the head of the mages in this Circle," Irving says with a gentle grin. "And yes, this is my office."

"This tower is big!" I say.

Irving chuckles softly. "Yes, a little boy like you should be careful where he wanders. There are things tucked away in here that a child was never meant to see."

"Like mages lifting up their robes to one another in the corners when they think nobody's looking?" I say innocently.

Irving clears his throat. "Um. Yes, like that." He chuckles in embarrassment. "Why don't you run along now, Lexen? I hear Hazel is making cookies down in the kitchens."

"Ooh! Cookies!" I exclaim, and run off.

I might only be playing the role of a little kid, but still, cookies! And I haven't been in the tower for very long yet, but I already have made sure to note where food can be found around here.

Sure enough, the woman working in the kitchens at the moment has just pulled out a fresh sheet of cookies from the oven. Delicious smells waft out down the corridor, bringing a broad grin to my face.

"The cookies are still warm," says the woman in a strange monotone. "You should wait for them to cool first."

I'm taken aback by her strange way of speaking. Would it be rude to point it out and ask about it? Maybe it's just her own quirk. Maybe I'm just imagining things.

"I'm Lexen," I say. "Are you Hazel?"

"My name is Hazel," she replies, still speaking slowly and emotionlessly. "Well met."

I'm six years old. I can afford to be bold and rude. "Why do you talk like that?" I ask.

"It is because I am Tranquil," Hazel says.

"What's that mean?" I wonder.

"It means that I have been cut off from my magic," Hazel explains.

"Oh..." I say, blinking at her, my blood running cold at the very thought that this is even possible. "I don't see what that has to do with it, though. Lots of people don't have magic and don't talk like that."

"The process also cuts off all emotion," Hazel says.

"That sounds horrible," I say.

Hazel cocks her head at me. "I feel no horror. I am quite content with my lot."

That just makes it all the more horrible. I shudder involuntarily, but bite my lip. "Why was this done to you?"

"It was by my own choice," Hazel says. "I was never a great mage, and the idea of being put through the Harrowing terrified me. I did not believe I could succeed. And so I chose this instead."

"Well, I guess it's not so bad if that was your choice," I say reluctantly.

I don't understand why people make the choices they do sometimes. Why someone would voluntarily do something like this to themselves. But then I've also seen people who would sacrifice their own lives for the sake of others. And I've seen people who would reject immortality...

I close my eyes at the sudden thought of Cassie, like a hole in my heart that will always feel like something is missing. But I push it aside. I can't look back. I can travel through time and turn back the clock, but I can never reclaim what has been lost forever.

"Yes," Hazel goes on, oblivious to my reaction. "Although some of the Tranquil employed by the Circle were not necessarily such willing participants. It has been used as a punishment for apprentices who have committed severe infractions of various sorts."

And that, I'm less than okay with. I feel sick at the thought of it. Would this sort of thing be permanent if it happened to me or my friends? Should we just leave this world right now rather than risk it?

No, I think. That would be overreacting. It's not like I avoided Wizarding Earth just because it had Dementors that I was afraid would suck out my soul.

"I... see," I say hesitantly.

"Would you like a cookie?" Hazel asks suddenly. "They should be cool enough now."

I shift awkwardly, and then say, "Yes, please. May I take one for my friend, Gellert, as well?"

"Certainly."

I take two cookies and quickly leave the kitchens, returning to the room I share with Gellert and a handful of other apprentices.

"Hey, Gellert," I say, doing my best to feign normalcy. "I brought you something." I grin and hand out the cookie to him.

Gellert surreptitiously snatches the cookie from my hands with a grin, peering about to make sure none of the other children noticed our delectable bounty.

" _Muffliato_ ," I whisper, making small gestures with my fingers and also glancing around. "Gellert, I found out something... interesting today."

"What is it?" Gellert wonders, munching on his cookie.

I take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to say this. "You can't get expelled from the Circle, Gellert."

"You can't?" Gellert says. "That's great news."

I shake my head vehemently. "That's not what I mean. You _must not_ do anything that would have gotten you merely expelled from a school like Durmstrang or Hogwarts."

"What do you mean, then?" Gellert says, raising an eyebrow and crumbs falling from his fingers.

I let out a heavy sigh and stare down at the cookie in my own hand. I'd been genuinely excited about the simple treats only a short while ago, and now I feel like there's a heavy pit in my stomach instead.

"They... they can take away your magic," I whisper.

"They what?" Gellert says, half-eaten cookie slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground. After a moment, he glances down, picks it up, and brushes it off, frowning deeply.

"They call it 'Tranquil'," I say quietly. "They can make you a Squib. Worse than a Squib -- No magic, no emotions, nothing. I've never seen anything like it."

"That's... that's..." Gellert stammers. "Why would they _do_ such a thing?"

"I guess that's one way of keeping mages under control," I say. "I don't know which is a more horrible prospect. The Dementor's Kiss, or living like... that."

Gellert sighs. "We're going to have to be damned careful."


	2. The Marauders of Ferelden

"What are you two up to?" says a female voice behind me. 

I jump in surprise, dropping the Marauder's Map and sending it fluttering to the ground, and turn away from the statue that we'd been examining. The elven girl standing there is named Kirlin Surana, and she looks to be maybe a year or two older than us. I silently curse myself for my inattention in allowing her to sneak up on us. 

"What's this?" Kirlin says, bending down and picking it up. 

I bite my lip. I hadn't had a chance to clear it. How did any of the previous Marauders not have these sorts of problems at Hogwarts? 

"Who are Phoenix and Ducky?" Kirlin asks. 

"Gah," I mutter, casting a sidelong glare at Gellert. "Did you change my nickname again?" 

Gellert stares at the ceiling innocently. 

Kirlin gives us a strange look, then glances down at the parchment again and blinks. "And who are Stormseeker and Mugglephile?" 

"You didn't!" Gellert says, looking at me in mock horror. 

"What is this, anyway?" Kirlin wonders. "Oh! It's a map of the tower!" 

"Shhh," Gellert says, glancing around furtively. 

"This is really neat! Did you do this yourselves?" 

"Well..." I say. "We didn't exactly come up with it entirely ourselves. We're just copying an idea we saw somewhere. The spells are _way_ too complicated for us to come up with on our own." 

"Oh, I see," Kirlin says, looking up at the statue and handing the map back. I take it thankfully and tuck it away into my robes. "So what were you doing, anyway?" 

It feels a little strange being around actual _elves_ again, like the ones I'm used to from home, and not Wizarding Earth's weird house-elves. It's kind of nice to see that other worlds seem to agree with my homeworld on what elves are supposed to be. 

"We were looking at this statue," Gellert says. "It's supposed to be magic, or something." 

"Magus Gorvish?" Kirlin says, peering at the plaque on the statue. "What's it supposed to do?" 

"Dunno, but we were trying to find out," I say. 

The threat of being made Tranquil hasn't discouraged me _too_ much from trying to learn everything I can about this new world. At least it doesn't seem too likely unless they catch us doing something really bad. Like walk in on a Soul Bonding ritual. That'd be bad. 

We manage to extricate ourselves from Kirlin and return to our dorm. The last thing we need is to have an _actual_ little kid following us around. 

Kirlin, however, is not dissuaded so easily. Whenever we're off exploring or poking around in places we shouldn't be, we often turn around to find Kirlin tagging along with us. 

It's not that I don't like children or anything. But Gellert and I are immortal. For Kirlin's own safety, she should stay far, far away from us. I would rather not get attached to anyone in this world, and have to worry about their well-being. That just complicates things. 

Standing on Gellert's shoulders, I can read the titles of books on higher shelves without tipping anyone off to the use of magic that we shouldn't know yet. I can't wait to get the chance to actually read some of these things, but once I do, I'll have some good places to start. 

"Why don't you just use a ladder?" wonders Kirlin below me. 

I sigh and have to chuckle, utterly unsurprised at her appearance by this point. Maybe I should just go with it. She's obviously not going to give up. I'll be able to keep an eye on her better if she's not just trailing along after us. And then maybe she might actually listen if I tell her that there's some things I want to do by myself. 

I hop down and look over Kirlin appraisingly. She's older than us, but being an elf girl, she's actually a little bit shorter than me. "Alright, Kirlin," I say. "You think you can cut it being a Marauder?" 

Kirlin nods eagerly. "I totally can! What, do you doubt me because I'm a girl, or because I'm an elf?" 

"Neither," I say. "Besides, my grandma's an elf." I shrug. 

"Oh, really?" Kirlin says. "Come on, will you let me join you? You can call me Starfire, and I can help with stuff, too!" 

"Starfire, huh," Gellert says. "Well, so long as we're being pretentious." 

"What does that mean?" Kirlin wonders, looking at him in confusion. 

She's seven. Can't expect her to know all the big words we use. I chuckle, and reply, "It means, you know, fancy. Neat sounding." 

"Oh! Well, it's really neat sounding!" Kirlin says brightly. "And I can be smart like you two! I can be pretentious, too!" 

I have to giggle aloud at that. "Alright, alright. But you better pull your own weight. Starfire." I grin at her. 

"I will! I totally will!" She bounces around excitedly. 

"But be more quiet," Gellert says with a smirk. "We're trying to be _inconspicuous_ here." 

"In... con... spicuous," Kirlin says, carefully sounding out the word. "What's that mean?" 

"We don't want anyone to notice us," I say. 

"Oh! Oh! I can be inconspicuous, too!" 

Gellert gives me a look as if wondering why I even agreed to this, but then just shrugs. 

The worst part of it, though, is when the enchanters take a bit of my blood to make my phylactery, whatever that's supposed to mean. I don't like the idea of people using my blood for anything I don't want them to. 

"What's a phylactery for?" I ask Wynne, one of the enchanters who teaches the younger apprentices. 

"The templars can use it to track down wayward little mages who try to run away from the tower," Wynne replies gently. "They'll bring you back here, so you can be safe and not wander around lost in the world." 

"Oooh," I say, my eyes widening. "So how old do you have to be before you stop having to be kept in the tower?" 

"Well, once you've passed your Harrowing and are considered a full mage, you might have the chance to be sent on missions outside of the tower," Wynne says. "Or if there's a war, you might be able to get permission to join the army and fight the enemy or heal the soldiers. But otherwise, the tower is your home. It is your safe haven." 

It's only then that I start to get the sinking feeling that this isn't just another Hogwarts. I didn't see the chains and bars on this prison when I walked blithely into it, and only now are they becoming clear to me. She tries to couch it in nice words, but a prison is still a prison. It was easier being ignorant. Now, I rankle for freedom. 

"Lexen?" Wynne says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright?" 

Shit, she must have seen my expression. I carefully smooth my face and make as if nothing is wrong. "I'm fine," I say. "I just kind of want to see the world someday, you know?" 

Wynne smiles at me in a grandmotherly manner. "I understand, child. Perhaps one day you'll get the chance." 

Around a month after we arrived in this world, another young mage by the name of Jowan comes to Kinloch Hold. He's six years old, and looks lost, alone, and scared. He must have just been pulled away from his family. 

"Hi," I say cheerfully to him. "My name's Lexen. You're Jowan, aren't you?" 

Jowan nods silently, looking at the floor. 

"Are you okay?" I ask. 

Jowan grunts and shrugs noncommittally. 

"It's alright," I say. "You miss your family, don't you?" 

"No," Jowan snaps, curling up in a fetal position. 

"What, did they just dump you off like so much rubbish?" Gellert asks. 

Jowan doesn't respond, but by the grimace on his face, I'm guessing that that came pretty close to the mark. 

"How awful," Kirlin says. "Who would do something like that?" 

Gellert chuckles softly and pats Kirlin on the head. "I hope you never have to understand hate, my dear, innocent Starfire." 

"My mum thought I was a... a... a _bomination_ ," Jowan sputters. "She left me at the Chantry. And they sent me here." 

"It's alright, Jowan," I say. "You're safe here, now. You're among friends. We'll be your friends, right? And we won't abandon you, either." 

"Yep," Gellert agrees, grinning a bit. 

Later, Gellert takes me aside and puts up a privacy charm, after making sure that Jowan and Kirlin are asleep. 

"This is a strange world," I say. 

"No kidding," Gellert says. "Mages are kept imprisoned, and instead of wizards disowning their Squib children who failed to be magical, it's the Squibs who dump off any magical children that get born to them. How did this place ever come to this? I could understand the situation in Terrestia better -- it was a powerful sect of mages who ran the world. But here? How can a setup like this even work?" 

"The templars, and their anti-magic powers and the threat of Tranquility," I say softly. "I'm starting to envy Tom now. At least he's free." 

"Yeah, but he doesn't have the resources of the tower libraries at hand," Gellert counters. "So long as we're here, we can make use of what we have available." A grin spreads across his face. "Shall we have a contest to see who can memorize the most books before circumstances force us to leave?" 

"That's pretty open-ended," I say. 

Gellert snorts. "Knowing the way things tend to go around us, I'll bet that we won't get through a normal human lifespan without anything spectacular happening to change the situation here. In fact, I'll bet that it happens within a decade." 

"You know I don't make bets," I say. 

"Won't stop _me_ from betting," Gellert says. "I just know how these things go. Unless we know exactly what's coming and can take steps to avert it, something's going to blow up. And sometimes even if we do." 

"I'd call you pessimistic, but you're probably right." 

The four of us have the run of the tower after that. Kirlin might be a lot younger than us, mentally, but she's clever and picks up on things quickly. Jowan is a lot less clever, but he makes up for it with spirit and passion, even if he does have a tendancy to get broody at times. 

"Jowan needs a Marauder name, too," I say. "How about Broody?" 

"Why am I broody?" Jowan asks when it first comes up. 

"And what's that even mean, anyway?" Kirlin wonders. 

"Well, it's because you're dark and moody," Gellert says, grinning at him. 

"Constant vigilance!" I say. 

Gellert giggles, and Kirlin and Jowan just give me blank looks. 

* * *

It takes us years to perfect the charms on our new Marauder's Map, and we still don't think we've gotten every nook and cranny of Kinloch Hold mapped out. However, it's a lot easier to tell when things are missing when the place sticks to actual physical geography than magic space. The places we haven't been able to map are hence, obviously, places that we're not allowed to go and that aren't easy to get into. That doesn't stop us from trying, however. 

When I'm ten years old, another new apprentice comes to the tower. He's twelve, clutching an embroidered pillow like a lifeline, and looking a little stunned. 

"Hello," I say. "I'm Lexen. What's your name?" I don't know when the Marauders became the welcoming committee for new mages, but it's served us well enough so far. We're the only family that most of these poor kids have now. 

The boy grunts. "Don't have one anymore." 

I look at him in puzzlement. "How can you not have a name?" 

He shrugs. "Left it behind, with everything else but this..." He indicates the pillow without a hint of embarrassment. "Just call me Anders. Because I'm from the Anderfels." 

I think back to the maps of Thedas I've seen. "You've come a long way. How'd you end up in Ferelden?" 

Anders shrugs again. "The templars brought me. I guess they wanted to get me far away from my family so I wouldn't have anywhere to run off to if I tried to escape. And I _will_ escape. They can't keep me in this prison forever." 

I grin at him and put my hand on his shoulder. "I hear you there. I'll do whatever I can to help you take your freedom." 

Years later than the others, but we had a fifth Marauder. Well, this one winds up spending a lot less time in the tower than the rest of us. With the help of the map and plausible deniability, we help him slip away again and again. 

Gellert giggles. "This must be driving the templars batty, trying to figure out how Anders keeps getting away." 

"I just hope they don't make him Tranquil for this or anything," I say. "But taking the risk is his choice..." 

They keep bringing him back, however. Again and again. I just wish we could get in wherever they're being kept and smash the phylacteries of every mage in this tower. 

I'm seventeen when they seem to finally get fed up with Anders' antics. 

"Did you hear?" Gellert says. "They brought Anders back again." 

I groan. "Where's he at now?" 

"I heard they put him into solitary confinement," Gellert says. "For a year!" 

"At least they didn't make him Tranquil," I say. "Well, solitary confinement. This presents a challenge worthy of the Marauders!" I discreetly pull the map out of my bag, tap it with my fingers, and say, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." 

Gellert and I scan the map, looking for the dot marked Anders. It had shown a different name at first, but Anders was so upset when he saw it that we convinced the map to recognize a different name for him instead. 

As we're looking, a furry face bumps up against my leg, and claws sink into my knee. "Ai!" I cry out. "Andraste's ass, Mr. Wiggums!" Probably the hardest part of coming to a new world was teaching myself a new way of swearing. 

The cat settles onto my lap and looks over the map, putting his forepaws all over it. I'm glad that the thing is charmed well enough that a mere feline shouldn't be able to do anything to it. 

"We're going to find Anders, Mr. Wiggums," Gellert says. "Care to help?" 

"Meow." 

"Was that a yes or a no?" I wonder. 

"That's probably an 'I'm coming along whether you want me to or not just so I can get underfoot'," Gellert replies. 

"I didn't know you were a Kittymouth, Gellert," I say, grinning wryly. 

"Cats are bastards, just like me," Gellert says. "We understand one another. There he is, on the third floor. Shall we scrounge up Kirlin and Jowan?" 

"Let's have them make a minor distraction," I say. 

With the templars having other things to worry about, the two of us, and one cat, creep up toward the room where Anders is being kept. A prison within a prison. There's a templar standing guard outside, looking quite serious about his duty. We hide behind a pillar, avoiding his line of sight. I have to wonder if he's just going to stand there the entire time that Anders is being kept here. They'd have to change guards sometime. 

Mr. Wiggums, not the least bit deterred by the thought of facing off with templars, slinks away from us and proudly approaches Anders' cell as if he has every right to be there. The templar completely ignores him, allowing the cat to mince in. 

Gellert and I search the area thoroughly, and can't find any way around the guard. There's no windows on the room or anything. We head off to a corner out of sight and put up a privacy charm. 

"I say we just stun the templar and be done with it," Gellert says. "Then modify his memories afterward." 

"Why, Gellert, I'm surprised at you," I say. 

"What, did you want to try to _talk_ your way past the mana-leech?" 

"No, I'm just shocked that the first suggestion you advocated didn't involve just killing everything in your way." 

"I do still want to stay here and learn more," Gellert says with a smirk. "Pity only Kirlin could manage to learn to cast a wandless Patronus." 

I snicker softly. "And why in the Fade could we never find any good two-way communication spells? We still have no idea where Rispy might be..." 

I've been keeping an eye on his bond, and he's died several times over the years, but since he was always able to avoid it on the second run, I guess whatever situations he might have run into weren't so bad that having a little apparent precognition wasn't enough to prevent. 

"Because Wizarding Earth mages are idiots," Gellert says. "And cell phones wouldn't work here anyway. I mean, even if they did, can you imagine what the roaming charges would be?" 

"I'm going to pretend to know what you're talking about while figuring out a way to free Anders without getting us fucked over," I say. 

"Hmm," Gellert says. "I know..." He pulls out the Elder Wand from his bag, leans out from cover a bit to point it at the templar, and says, " _Imperio!_ " 

"Gellert!" I whisper, glaring at him. 

"What?" Gellert says innocently. "It gets the job done, doesn't it?" He steps out and strides casually toward the cell. 

Anders looks up from scritching Mr. Wiggums as we come in. "Gellert! Lexen! How'd you get past the guard?" 

"Don't ask," I say, rolling my eyes. "How do you want us to handle this? I'm hardly going to stand by while my friend is imprisoned for a _year_. I'm just afraid they'll make you Tranquil or something if you try to escape again." 

Anders shakes his head. "They can't do that. I've already passed my Harrowing." 

"Still, they're treating you like a common criminal just for wanting your freedom," I say. 

"You'd think they'd just give up by now," Anders says. 

Gellert snorts. "They're templars. They wouldn't know what to do with themselves if they weren't persecuting mages all the time. Anyway, shall we see about getting you out of here again?" 

"Maker, yes," Anders says. 

We turn and head out of the cell, past the templar who continues to stand there staring forward as if nothing is wrong. 

"What did you do to him?" Anders wonders, frowning. 

"Magic," Gellert replies, waggling his eyebrows. 

"You didn't use blood magic on him, did you?" 

"No, just mind control," Gellert says, shrugging. "What've you got against blood magic, anyway?" 

Anders gives him a look of surprise. "I didn't think you would stoop to that." 

"I'd think you'd know us better by now," I say. 

A small group of templars comes down the hall, and I stiffen. There's no way that this won't end in a fight, and very likely require me to force a reset. 

"What is going on here?" Knight-Commander Greagoir says. "Ser Cullen?" 

"Anders' friends are visiting him," the templar who was guarding Anders' cell replies tersely. 

"He was supposed to be in solitary confinement," Greagoir says. 

Gellert suddenly hisses, and utters, "Maker's _balls_!" 

"Knight-Commander!" Cullen says. "They're... trying to control me... with blood magic! Get them!" 

"He shook off your spell?" I say to Gellert in alarm. 

Electricity crackles around my body, and my heart pounds in my chest. We might still be able to get Anders out of the tower before I reset the day. I'd rather not just abandon him like this. 

"Knight-Commander," Anders says, glancing about in fear. "I knew nothing about this. I'm not a blood mage!" 

"He speaks the truth," I say. "He never even knew that Gellert and I were... more willing to use questionable magics, until today." 

"We should make them Tranquil for this!" says one of the other templars. "All three of them!" 

"That is not your judgment," Greagoir says firmly. "Lexen, stand down. Surrender." 

"Fuck that," Gellert says, raising the Elder Wand. 

I let my mind slip into battle mode, and spells ignite the air between us and the templars. Not for long, however. Suddenly, my magic goes out like a candle in a strong wind, and I sway from mana exhaustion. Fucking templars! Desperately, I try to grasp my Time Magic to age myself down and escape from this situation in one way or another. 

I have no mana of my own left to use, but I manage to draw in more energy from my bonds to Gellert and Tom. It's enough. I call upon my innate Time Magic to force my body to shed years in the blink of an eye. My skin crawls and my bones ache as I age myself down, younger, younger, out of existence. The quickest way to kill myself and force my Time Magic to send me back. 

* * *

I wake in the apprentice dorms that morning, hours back in time, still exhausted. I hate doing that. I can hardly remain conscious, never mind cast even a simple light spell. Damn, I hate templars. My time travel powers take a lot of energy even under the best of circumstances, but their mana draining abilities don't help that one bit. 

Gellert comes over to my bunk and mutters, " _Muffliato_. Well, that could have gone better." 

"We could have been made Tranquil!" I say, clenching my fists. 

"Relax, you still got us out of there, didn't you?" 

"And left Anders to his fate," I say. 

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Gellert says. "Let's worry about the Anders in the timeline we're in now instead, alright?" 

I sigh, and nod weakly. "Just, no more fighting templars if we can possibly help it." 

"Bloody magic-suckers," Gellert mutters. "You still in mana exhaustion?" 

"Yeah," I murmur. "I think I'd best just sleep for a while. Cover for me?" 

"I'll tell Wynne you're sick and couldn't come to class today," Gellert says. 

"No, then she'll insist on coming to see me and trying to heal whatever is wrong with me, and realize I've been using a lot of magic," I say. "Just tell her I'm tired or something." 

"Just come off as being lazy instead?" Gellert says. "Alright then. Rest. Recover your strength. We'll see if we can think of something to do about Anders." 

I close my eyes and drift off to sleep with a sigh. I wouldn't need to fear being made Tranquil if I'd just behave. This time was too close. I don't want a repeat of this. If it comes down between Anders' freedom and avoiding Tranquility, then I'll regretfully leave Anders to rot. 

The next day, I'm feeling much better. The ambient mana levels in Thedas are much higher than in Wizarding Earth, and even higher than Terrestia, a fact which I'm grateful for. We gather together the other Marauders for an impromptu meeting under privacy spells. 

"A year of solitary confinement?" Kirlin says. "How could they do such a thing?" 

"What do you expect from templars?" Gellert says, shrugging. "He was pushing it by escaping so many times as it was." 

"I hate feeling like I'm as much of a prisoner as he is," I grumble. 

"So escape with him the next time," Gellert says. "See how far you get. Me, I've still got research to do. I'm already way ahead of you on our book-reading challenge." 

"You read too fast," I say, rolling my eyes. 

"I have an idea!" Kirlin says. "They'll probably let him have books, right? We could pass messages with him through books!" 

"Hmm," Gellert says. "I could charm notes to make sure nobody else can read them. Good idea, Starfire." 

We make the preparations, find an innocuous enough book that might still be entertaining for poor Anders to read, and write up a note. Gellert's still better at charms than I am. Even after decades of practice, my primary talents still tend to lie with killing things. I don't really mind that, though. 

Once everything's ready, I take the book up to Anders' cell. Ser Cullen is standing outside again today. 

"Lexen, is it?" Cullen says. "I'm afraid I can't let you visit your friend. He's being punished with solitary confinement." 

"I know," I say. "I just figured he might be bored and brought a book for him to read." 

"This is not supposed to be a vacation," Cullen says, taking the book I hold out to him. "Healing magic, huh? Well, I suppose that's harmless enough." He flips through it, catching the 'bookmark' that almost flutters out, and puts it back in. "Hmm, I guess you're not trying to pull a fast one or anything. Alright, I'll give this to your friend, then." 

It's a slow method of communicating. The book doesn't appear back in the library until a week later, but at least Gellert's contingency spells were sensitive enough to make sure that the 'bookmark' didn't reveal itself unless a Marauder touched it. And we still can't manage to come up with a way to get Anders out of this predicament without having to fight templars. 

"I hate this," I mutter, slumping down onto my bed. I've tried diplomacy. I just got back from talking to First Enchanter Irving. But he's adamant on the punishment and will not budge on the matter, even though he makes all the right sounds to make it sound like he regrets the necessity and that Anders obviously brought it all on himself. I wouldn't say it aloud to Gellert, but that sort of thing reminds me overly much of Dumbledore. 

"Relax, Lexen," Gellert says. "There's nothing you can do." 

"I refuse to accept that," I mutter. 

"And that's why you always wind up stressing yourself out and driving yourself mad," Gellert says with a snort. "You take the responsibility for _everything_ that happens in the world squarely and solely upon your own shoulders. Look, Lexen. You cannot control everything." 

"Maybe not yet I can't," I say. "But I _will_. One day, I will..." 

"What happened to preaching about freedom?" Gellert says. "Or does that only count for yourself? I mean, I can completely understand if you only really care about your own freedom. That's perfectly reasonable. But fighting for freedom for _all_ beings simply isn't possible." 

"I will make it possible!" I snap. 

"That would have to include the templars as well," Gellert points out. 

"They're imposing upon the freedom of another being!" 

"No matter _what_ anyone does, it's going to infringe upon the possibilities available to another being in some way," Gellert says. "If you exercise your freedom to eat the last cookie, then nobody else can eat the last cookie." 

"Your examples need work," I say. 

Gellert snickers. "Maybe I just don't care anymore. Relax, Lexen. Study. Learn. Gain knowledge. Gain power. Become a god, and be as hypocritical as you want to be. Travel through space and time to eat every last cookie in the multiverse." 

"That doesn't even make sense," I say. 

"It wasn't supposed to. Actually, now I'm hungry." 


	3. Harrowing

The year passes with me feeling increasingly miserable, despite Gellert's assurances and attempts at distracting me. You'd think that I were the one locked up in a cell, rather than Anders. I hate this place. 

"Lexen, lighten up already," Gellert says. "You've become even more broody than Jowan lately. Anders will be out soon enough. Although he might want to look out for that one guy, Karl. Been pining over him ever since he was locked up. I think he's got a crush on our dear friend." 

"Anders should have never been locked up in the first place," I say. 

"I don't know why you're so upset about it, anyway." 

"I just hate feeling helpless," I admit, looking at the floor. "I hate feeling like there's nothing I can do." 

"Of course there's something you could have done," Gellert says. "You could have attacked the templars outright and slaughtered as many of them as you could before they killed you or made you Tranquil. You just _chose_ not to, because the risks were too great." 

I sigh. "I know. That doesn't make it any easier, though." 

When Anders finally emerges from solitary confinement, he comes down to meet up with us. I hug him impulsively upon seeing him. "Anders!" 

"Nice to see you again, too, Lexen," Anders says, grinning at me and squeezing me back. "Ah, the smell of a slightly bigger prison." 

Gellert, laying back on his bed and reading a book, says, "So, when are you planning your next escape attempt for?" 

Anders snickers softly and says, "I think I'll wait for a good distraction." 

"Those can be easily engineered," Gellert says. "You might as well call us the Distraction Squad. If we weren't already called the Fereldan Marauders." 

"A distraction that you _aren't_ blatantly responsible for," Anders corrects. "And I can afford to stay put for a while and let them think that I'm being properly contrite. I'm just glad to actually see you all again." 

"I missed you too, Anders," I say. 

"Lexen's got a crush on you, Anders," Gellert says. "Better not tell Karl." 

My face burns and I glare at him. "Bite your tongue, Mugglephile." 

"Suck my cock, Ducky," Gellert replies lightly. 

* * *

One day, while eating lunch with my friends, a passing templar steps on Mr. Wiggums' tail. The cat lets out a horrific screech, and hisses at the armored man. 

"Serves you right for not looking where you're going, you stupid cat," the templar mutters. "Out of the way." 

He casually kicks the cat aside with his plated foot. The cat stumbles, and stands in an aggressive posture, tail in the air and fur standing on end. And then I notice that his eyes are starting to glow red. 

"Mr. Wiggums?" Anders says, looking to the cat in some concern. "Are you alright?" 

Mr. Wiggums ignores him, and leaps upon the templar who stepped on his tail. An aura of lambent flames surrounds the cat's body, and he rips at the templar's face with claws that are suddenly razor sharp and long as knives. 

"Argh!" the templar screams, trying to swat the possessed cat away from his ruined race. Blood gushes out from his exposed throat, and he collapses to the ground in a moment as his life rapidly drains away from him. He clearly should have worn his helmet to lunch today. 

"The cat's possessed!" shouts another templar, grabbing a sword and running up in alarm. "Rage demon!" 

I mutter to my friends, "I'm not sure whether to help, or to cheer on the cat." 

"Is there really a question?" Gellert replies. 

I glance briefly at the templars having a pitched battle against the cat, and say, " _Mentally_ cheer on the cat. Don't want them to think we were somehow responsible for this." 

"I couldn't have _planned_ a prank this good," Gellert says, taking a bite of cheese. 

A second templar gets his eyes gouged out by the demon cat's dagger-like claws. A third comes rushing up the stairs from the cellar. The cat zips over toward him and knocks him right back down the stairs, and shouts and clattering armor can be heard as the templar tumbles down the steps. 

Finally, a templar gets off a good shot at the possessed feline with his sword, and bisects him. The red light in his eyes winks out as two halves of Mr. Wiggums fall to the stone floor in a bloody mess. I absently cast a nonverbal Scourgify to clean a speck of blood that had splattered onto my blue apprentice robes from one of the dying templars. 

"Tragic, simply tragic," Anders says. "But a heroic show, nonetheless. I have never been more proud." 

"Of the cat, you mean?" I say with a smirk. 

"Yes, the cat," Anders says. 

"You know, that would have made a good distraction to escape," Gellert says. 

"But I would have missed Mr. Wiggums' moment of triumph!" Anders says. 

One of these days, we're going to forget the privacy spells and get caught saying something incriminating. 

"You! You mages, why did you just sit there and watch, and not help?" demands one of the templars. 

I cancel the privacy wards with a flick of my fingers, and put on a mask of innocence. "Maker, that was terrifying! A horrible demon like that could have killed a mere apprentice like me easily! I'm so glad you mighty templars were here to protect us!" 

Thankfully, my friends all manage to keep a straight face, although Gellert is biting his lip to suppress laughter. And Kirlin and Jowan probably aren't just pretending to be taking things seriously and seem more stunned than anything else. 

Once we get back to our dorms and under another privacy spell, Kirlin lets us have it. "I can't believe the three of you can be so callous! People died back there, you know!" 

"Templars died," I say, scowling. 

"They're still people!" Kirlin says. "They didn't deserve to die!" 

"The one who stepped on poor Mr. Wiggums certainly did," Anders puts in. 

"Oh, I wish I could have helped them. Nobody deserves to be killed by demons like that." 

"Sorry if we're having a hard time feeling sorry for them," Gellert says with a snort. 

"So... um... Kirlin, when do you think they'll take you for your Harrowing?" Jowan asks uneasily. 

"Soon, I'm sure," Kirlin says. "I'll finally be getting out of these dorms. And away from you lot." 

"Hey, Anders is already a full mage, but he still hangs around here all the time anyway," Gellert says. "Besides, they hinted that my Harrowing should be soon, too." 

"And mine also," I say. 

Jowan shifts uneasily. "They haven't given me any such assurances. I'm starting to think they're not going to let me try. That they're just going to make me Tranquil." 

"Don't worry, Jowan," Anders says. "We won't let them. I think I've proven by now how easy it is to get out of the tower." 

" _Staying_ out of the tower is a more difficult prospect, however," Jowan says. 

"We really need to figure out where they're keeping the phylacteries," I say. "And it's probably in one of the spots on the map that's still blank." 

"I'm _not_ helping you with this," Kirlin says. 

"You'd let them make Jowan Tranquil?" Anders says. 

"We don't know that," Kirlin insists. "You're just being paranoid." 

"But what if they _are_?" I say. 

"I've never been a particularly skilled mage," Jowan says. "They might not think I'm worth the trouble." 

I shake my head. "It doesn't matter. We find out where they're keeping the phylacteries, how to get in, and destroy them. And then we can all get out of here." 

"You can have fun with that if you like," Gellert says. "I'll help, but I'd rather stay here and read. I'm not getting involved with the troubles of the world outside." 

"When did _you_ become a Ravenclaw?" I mutter. The others look at me oddly. "A bookworm," I correct myself. 

"Knowledge is power?" Gellert says with a noncommittal shrug. "Anyway, the biggest areas we don't know about yet are in the basement. I'm betting they store all the interesting stuff down there." 

"Should definitely be worth a look," I say. "Provided we can find a way inside, at any rate." 

* * *

The days roll by as we explore the basement discreetly and attempt to find a way inside without attracting notice from the templars. It's not like we haven't been outside this area before, but despite all the years we've been here, we never came up with a way to get us inside without drawing unwanted attention. 

Kirlin is taken for her Harrowing the next week, and she passes readily, and then Gellert does as well. I'm nervous, twitchy, my skin crawling and my heart pounding at the prospect of my own coming soon. They don't tell the apprentices what to expect, and while Kirlin refused to say anything, Gellert just reassured me with, "Don't worry. You'll do fine." 

I trust him and all, but I'm still nervous nonetheless. I don't like going into unknown dangers, but I think it's more the fact that I'm still afraid I'm going to wind up being made Tranquil than that I'm concerned about dying or anything. _That_ is the danger that really worries me. I should just back out of this now. I can ask Gellert to hit me with a Killing Curse, and knock us square out of this universe again. Simple as that. 

But no. I can't do that. Tom seemed to be happy about having a family, and I don't want to just take that away from him. And while I still don't know where Rispy might be, I'm sure he's fine, probably somewhere happy and healthy himself, just too far away to readily get a message to us. Maybe he turned out to be a Qunari in this life, or something. I've only heard rumor of them, but they don't seem to have much real communication with the rest of Thedas. That could definitely explain it. 

"Come along, Lexen. It's time for your Harrowing." 

Right, there's no delaying it. The time has come at last. I take a deep breath and follow after the enchanter, heading upstairs to the Harrowing Chamber. I'm on edge, on alert, ready to call on my Time Magic to reset the day on a moment's notice if I get even the slightest whiff that they might decide to make me Tranquil. 

In the Harrowing Chamber, First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir are waiting for me. This is the large, round room at the very top of the Circle Tower, and a pedestal containing a small pool of a glowing blue liquid has been set up in the center of the chamber. 

"Ah, good, you're here, Lexen," Irving says. "You are ready for your Harrowing, I hope? Once you have passed, you will no longer be an apprentice, and will be raised to the status of a full-fledged mage of the Circle." 

"What will this entail?" I ask. "What do I need to do?" 

"You must prove that you are able to resist the temptations of demons," Irving says. 

"Demons are the greatest danger mages face," Greagoir says. "In a moment's weakness, a demon could take over your body and wreck great havoc upon the world of mortals." 

"Demons?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I'm quite sure I can handle that, then." 

I've never been one to be willing to bargain with demons, never mind allow a foreign entity into my body and control me. The very thought of being controlled by someone or something against my will is abhorrant to me. 

"You will be sent into the Fade, where we have summoned a demon into the same area you are going to be." Irving says, "You are to face off against this demon. It will do anything to trick you or tempt you into giving it control of your body. You must resist it, and only then can you succeed in this final test." 

"And if you should fail," Greagoir adds ominously, "then I will do my duty as I must, and strike you down before you can bring harm to anyone." 

I can't help but wonder about the Circle of Magi. They denounce blood magic, but use it in their phylacteries to track escaped mages. And now I find out that they summon demons just to test their apprentice with? 

They have the power to be able to afford to be hypocrites. I'm not in a position to question this at the moment. At least I'm feeling a bit better about this Harrowing. I'll just be killed if anything goes wrong. The only thing then that I'd really have to worry about is if a demon managed to attach themselves to my soul and go back in time with me. Now there's a pleasant thought. 

Irving goes over to the bowl of glowing blue and gestures toward it. "Lyrium," he says. "The essence of magic in its purest form." 

I've seen lyrium potions that restore a mage's magical energy, but never lyrium in such a pure form. I can't imagine that he wants me to drink this stuff, though, does he? 

"Just touch it," Irving says, as if anticipating my question. "And you will be sent into the Fade." 

I give a nod, and go up to the raised bowl, and put my fingers into the glowing substance. A sensation spreads through my body, tingling and fizzling a little at first, and then the world spins... 

I open my eyes into a strange, slightly hazy, surreal world. The Fade, called the Ethereal Plane by the Elkandu of my homeworld. However, while the sky in the Ethereal Plane is purple, the sky here has a sky of sickly yellowish-green, filled with twisted dark silhouettes. I seem to be on an island floating in the sky, and glancing down off the edge, I have to doubt that there is actually any "ground" here, in the usual sense of the word. 

This place looks nothing like Torn Elkandu. While that's an orderly city covered in glowing runes, here I see fragments of architecture joining up with unearthly plantlife, winding paths that lead around to nowhere in particular, statues of unrecognizable creatures. This is supposed to be the world of dreams, and it seems to me like a poor mimickry of the waking world made by those who do not understand reality. 

"Another young mage thrown to the wolves, I see," says a voice ahead of me, and below me. I glance around to see who might have spoken, frowning in confusion. "Down here!" There's a small, furry rodent sitting on the path in front of me. 

"Oh, it's a rat," I say. 

"I'm not a rat, I'm a mouse!" 

"Whatever," I say. 

The rodent changes form before my eyes, and a human wearing red robes stands before me. "I was an apprentice like you, once. But now, I don't even remember my own name. So you can simply call me Mouse." 

"What do you mean, you _were_ an apprentice?" I ask. "Did you get stuck here or something?" 

Mouse nods. "I was taking too long to complete my test, you see, and the templars assumed that I had failed. So they killed me, and left my spirit trapped here in the Fade." 

"I see," I say, grumbling a little. "Fucking templars." 

"They have no right to do this to us," Mouse says. "To send us in unprepared. They just call in a demon and say 'Hey, over here, there's a meal waiting for you!' What gives them the right to test us like this?" 

"They're hypocrites," I say, shrugging. "But I'm not worried. I'll be fine. It's not like I've never faced demons before." Give or take a possessed cat. 

"Yes, maybe you'll be stronger than some of those who have come before," Mouse says. "Stronger than me..." 

I shrug. "My friends did just fine. _I_ certainly shouldn't have any trouble. I don't suppose you happen to know where this demon they summoned happens to be hiding, so I can kick its ass?" 

"Locations and directions are strange in the Fade," Mouse says. "But there are other spirits nearby, who might help or hinder you, as well." 

"Guess I'd better start looking, then," I say, going to step past Mouse. 

"I'll follow along," Mouse says, transforming back into a small furry creature. "But don't expect me to fight!" 

I roll my eyes. "I wasn't. I don't need you to fight, anyway. I'm perfectly capable of killing anything we might run across." 

"Of course," Mouse says. "I'm sure you are very strong!" 

Further along, I come upon a shimmering, translucent figure of an armored man. I'm immediately struck by how much he resembles a Patronus, only human-shaped rather than some sort of animal. Behind him, there are glowing racks filled with weapons of all sorts. 

"Greetings," I say to him cautiously. "Might I ask who -- and what -- you are?" 

"I am a spirit of Valor," the silvery man replies. "I exist to hone the perfection of courage in battle. You must be another mortal sent here to be tested? It is a cowardly test that they demand of you. Better to pit you against one another, or to do battle with you themselves." 

"I agree," I say, grinning a little. "What are these weapons?" 

"I called them forth into existence with my will," Valor says. "Is it true that in your world, only mages can shape things with their will?" 

"Something like that," I say. "Others need to use more mundane weapons to change the world around them, directly with their hands." 

"They must lead very sad, empty existences," Valor says. 

I shrug. "I wouldn't know, myself, but the ones I've seen rarely seemed to mind that lack overly much." 

"The one who hunts you is strong," Valor tells me. "I will give you one of my weapons to use against it, if you can best me in battle." 

"A duel, is it?" I say, a broad grin spreading across my face in gleeful anticipation of a fight. "Gladly. It's been a long time since I've had a good battle." 

"Excellent!" Valor says. "I like your attitude. Let us fight!" 

I drop smoothly into combat mode, letting my mind slip into battle thinking. The world disappears but for me and my opponent, and electricity pours through me and out my hands. Nothing matters but defeating my enemy. 

After being struck with lightning several times, Valor concedes. "Enough. You have proven your worth." I stand down and relax. "You may have your pick of my weapons. You will be wanting a fine staff, I assume?" 

"No," I say. "I'd like a sword." 

"A sword?" Valor says. "I had believed that all mortal mages used staves." 

"Not all," I reply. "Just most of them. I never particularly cared for staves, myself. I would much rather have a blade in my hand." 

"Very well," Valor says, pulling a sword off of a rack and passing it over to me. "May you wield it valorously, and it bring you glory in battle." 

"My thanks," I say, taking it up in my left hand and continuing on with a bow. It has been many years since I wielded a blade, and I feel much more comfortable thus armed. I have to grin a little at the thought that I really have no need to fear templars if I know how to wield a sword. I need to get one for myself in the waking world, as I'm pretty sure I won't be able to take this one with me, more's the pity. 

The path winds on seemingly to nowhere, and at the end of it, a large mutant bear lays, half-asleep, spikes jutting out from its thick hide. 

"Be careful of this one," Mouse says. "It's a demon, and a powerful one. Not the one who hunts you, though. Maybe best to just leave it alone." 

"Mmph?" murmurs the bear demon. "A young mage, come to bother old Sloth?" 

"You're a sloth demon?" I say. 

"I am," the bear replies. "And while it might be interesting to slip into you and take your body for a walk, see the world through your eyes, I really can't be bothered with it." 

"Don't even try," I say, narrowing my eyes. 

"Watch your tongue, mortal, lest I change my mind," Sloth says. 

"He looks awfully strong," Mouse says. I glance aside to see that he's taken on human form again beside me. "Maybe you could convince him to teach you how to turn into a bear like him." 

"Unlikely," Sloth says. "Most mortals can't let go of their human shape. They're far too attached to it, and far too fixed in their identities, to be able to change their form." 

I snort softly. "I haven't been who I am since I was ten years old. But I don't need to be a bear in order to be strong. I wish I could turn into a dragon, though." 

I'm not the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood for nothing, am I? Was it all just a story, or was my family actually descended from dragons? I've never even tried to become an Animagus, though. I always thought that if I did, I'd just wind up turning into a duck anyway. 

"You? A dragon?" Sloth lets out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Now that would be a sight. But no. You can't even become a bear." 

I glare at the demon. " _Now_ you're just challenging me. Who are you to say what I can and cannot do?" 

"You can do anything you set your mind to," Mouse says. 

"As amusing as you are, mortal, teaching you would require far too much effort," Sloth says. "Leave me be. I tire of your presence." 

"I suggest we leave the nice... bear... be," Mouse says meekly. 

"Nice _demon_ , you mean," I say, reminding myself of what this being is. "No, I think I've chatted with evil beings enough. Now you die, foul demon!" 

The spiked bear stands up and says, "You really want to do this? What a nuisance." 

I'm not going to unwarily make any deals with demons, and wind up paying dark prices for the power that they might offer. No, that's not a path that I'm prepared to walk down. The threat of templars notwithstanding. 

I let electricity crackle around me and bring Valor's blade to bear against the, well, bear. 

"I will devour you and take over your body!" Sloth snarls, swiping at me with a massive paw. 

The sloth demon is far more powerful than I'd anticipated. Maybe I should have thought twice before taking on demons in their own territory. The blade flies out of my hand and embeds itself in the ground, and I collapse. In moments, the world goes dark. 

* * *

I wake in the apprentice dorms in Kinloch Hold with a soft groan. That could have gone better. 

Gellert comes up to me and puts up a privacy spell. "What happened? Did you fail your Harrowing or something? I would have thought you, of all people, would be able to deal with demons." 

"I think I got eaten by a bear," I mutter. 

"A bear?" Gellert says, raising an eyebrow. "You don't mean that sloth demon, do you?" I give a nod. "Maker's hairy balls, you didn't try to fight it, did you?" 

"I did," I say with a smirk. 

Gellert rolls his eyes. "You are _such_ a reckless Gryffindor sometimes. Alright, Lexen. Go back to your damned Harrowing and leave the sloth demon alone this time!" 

I snicker softly. "Right, right." 

At the same time as before, I'm taken off to the Harrowing Chamber again. I listen to Irving and Greagoir's words silently, and touch the pool of lyrium again to return to the Fade. I briefly speak to Mouse, get another sword from Valor, and continue on to search for the demon I'm actually supposed to fight. 

After some more wandering back and forth, the demon appears. It's a rage demon, all fire and hate, burning in the center of a flat area like a vaguely humanoid bonfire. 

"So, Mouse, this is the victim you've brought me to feast upon today?" the rage demon rumbles. 

I cast a glare aside at the red-robed man. I knew something hadn't struck me as quite right about him, and I didn't think it was just not trusting people who can turn into rats. "You'd seek to betray me? I'll destroy you next, then." 

The rage demon chuckles. "Yes, there is much anger in you. Such a delicious smell... Wonderful!" 

An aura of lightning surrounds me, and I raise Valor's blade. "You know, even if you were to defeat me, the templars would strike you down anyway?" 

"Let them try! I will destroy them as well!" 

"Oh, very subtle," I say with a snort. "Is it any wonder that most abominations don't seem to get very far? No matter. First I will kill you, and then I will kill Mouse." 

I slip into battle mode, more warily this time as I make sure to put up a protective spell first, and hurl myself at the rage demon with blade and lightning in my fists. This demon is much weaker than the bear back there, and soon enough, I am victorious. 

I turn my attention toward Mouse, who is standing aside watching wide-eyed, and take a step toward him with my blade. "Give me one good reason why I should not cut you down where you stand." 

"I just did what I had to in order to survive, you know!" Mouse says quickly. "I was so weak and small, and I couldn't fight them! What would you have done in my place?" 

"I wouldn't have failed to begin with," I reply. 

"Of course you wouldn't," Mouse says. "You're much stronger than me. You'll be a mighty enchanter one day, I'm sure. But what if you _had_ been trapped in here somehow, through no fault of your own?" 

"I'd survive," I say, shrugging. "I don't _like_ the prospect of making deals with demons, but if it's a matter of survival, then the damned world can burn for all I care." 

I say that, but it's not like I wouldn't actually care. I might still do it, but I'd angst about it endlessly. At least I'm not the sort of person who commits bad poetry for any reason. 

"I guess I can't really blame you for it," I say. "It's not like I couldn't handle a rage demon. And it's not like I haven't killed more people than I can count already." I shrug. 

"Maybe you might be able to finally get me out of here," Mouse says. "I hadn't dared to hope, but you're the most promising candidate I've seen come through here in a very long time, as long as I can remember." 

"What can I do?" I ask. 

"I could come out with you, I think," Mouse says. "You just need to want to let me inside of you." 

I look at him warily. "I don't fancy letting anyone else into my body, demon or otherwise. And you'd damned well better be able to offer me something to make it worth the risk even if I did." 

"What could I possibly offer you?" Mouse says. "I could try and help you against the templars! They fear you! They're afraid of your power, and would destroy every mage if they could!" 

"You don't even actually have any useful knowledge that you could offer me, do you," I say. "It's not worth the risk." 

"Oh, I can offer you knowledge! I can give you everything I know about the Fade... But you must do it quickly! Can't you feel the sword at your throat? They're going to kill you! I can help!" 

I frown deeply. While I'm hardly afraid of dying myself, I don't like the prospect of leaving Mouse to this sort of injustice. He didn't deserve this sort of fate, and if I can help him, I should at least try to do so. 

"There's no time to waste!" Mouse says. 

"I have all the time in the multiverse," I say lightly. "But come on. Let's get out of here." 

Mouse looks elated, and rushes toward me. The world spins, and I feel something inside my head, inside my _soul_. And then, darkness. 

* * *

I wake in the apprentice dorms, blinking up at the ceiling. What just happened here? Did the templars kill me? They must have. 

"You failed the Harrowing _again_?" Gellert says. "What did you do this time?" 

"I guess the templars thought I failed. I was taking too long, or something." 

Gellert rolls his eyes. "Well, I'm going to find something else to read, then." 

I'm taken to my Harrowing at the appointed time once more, and head back into the Fade. 

"What is this?" Mouse says, standing before me, not in rodent form this time. "What manner of mortal are you?" 

I blink at him. "What-- Did you come back with me or something?" 

"This doesn't seem to surprise you all that much," Mouse says. "Tell me. Explain. Who are you really? What sort of being _are_ you?" 

"I'm an immortal time traveler," I say. "I go back in time when I die. And I think I dragged you along with me." 

"A... time traveler?" Mouse says. 

I narrow my eyes at him. "And normally, forging a Soul Bond requires a demonic ritual involving blood magic. I don't think _you_ are just some lost apprentice, either." I pause. "Especially since you're wearing a Senior Enchanter's robe." 

Mouse chuckles, and as he does so, his voice deepens and form expands. An enormous demonic figure stands before me, with dark purplish skin and menacing with claws, spiraling horns, and spikes all over his body. "Yes, you have found me out. I am a pride demon. But I have already won a greater victory than I had ever anticipated." 

And the world goes dark. 


	4. Freedom for a Few Beings

My eyes snap open, and I shudder involuntarily. I'm looking up at the ceiling in the apprentice dorms. The templars must have killed me again. 

"Lexen?" Gellert says. "What _are_ you doing?" 

"Gellert, I think I'm possessed," I murmur. 

Gellert snorts softly. "You are not possessed." 

"How can you tell?" 

"Because you'd _know_ if you were possessed, you wouldn't just think it," Gellert points out. 

"Then I know I'm possessed!" I snap. "I took a pride demon back in time with me!" 

Gellert's face darkens abruptly. "Okay, yeah, that's not good. Well, I don't think you're technically _possessed_ so much as that the demon managed to bond itself to you. So, did you get anything good out of the deal?" 

"I didn't--" I start to protest. "Er..." 

"It couldn't forge a bond like this against your will," Gellert says. "Don't tell me that it actually tricked you? Please tell me that you actually got it to _agree_ to give you something for it?" 

"He offered to tell me everything he knows about the Fade," I say. 

"Excellent!" Gellert says brightly. "I'm surprised. I didn't think you'd actually make a deal with a demon. Well, I guess the main problem now is surviving your Harrowing or avoiding it somehow. Maybe now would be a good time to try to break in and destroy the phylacteries. I _think_ I know where they're being kept..." 

I rub my forehead. "I did not _intend_ to make a deal with a demon and would _like_ to just remove this bond!" 

Gellert blinks at me. "But didn't you just say he offered knowledge?" 

"I didn't realize he was a demon." 

"What the fuck did you _think_ he was, then? A bloody angel?" 

"Well, no..." I sigh. "First he said he was an apprentice, but he'd forgotten his name, so he asked me to call him Mouse, and he said he'd had to hide because the templars killed his body... Bah, never mind. You can call me an idiot all you like." 

"No, I'm calling you an idiot for making a deal with a demon, accidentally or otherwise, and then wanting to go back on your end of it and betray said demon _before_ getting everything you can out of the arrangement." 

I flop back on my bed and cover my face with my pillow. "This was not how I intended my Harrowing to go." 

"What's done is done," Gellert says. "I say, we should take advantage of the situation however we can." 

"I'm going to need to have a little chat with our new _friend_ to see if we can avoid the templars killing me," I mutter. "If that doesn't work... I don't know." 

Another hour passes nervously, and a mage comes to take me for the Harrowing again. I'm not even listening to what Irving and Greagoir are saying anymore. I don't care anymore, and I've heard it all before. 

Back in the Fade, "Mouse" isn't even pretending to be a mouse or a man anymore. He looms on the path ahead of me, waiting for me, all spikes and shadows. 

"What is happening here?" the pride demon says. "Explain this, mortal!" 

"I already did," I say. "I'm a time traveler. I go back in time when I die. And you're coming with me when I do. That means if the templars kill me, we're both stuck going through this Harrowing again." 

"Can you not use this power of yours to go to a different point?" 

"I can, but it's more difficult and I'd really rather not have to," I say. "Quit possessing me and making the templars kill me, and we can get out of this loop." 

"You agreed to allow me into you!" 

"I agreed to let you out of the Fade and into the material world," I say. "And _you_ agreed to teach me about the Fade. I will keep my end of the bargain, and I will hold you to yours." 

"Yet if I possess you now, then the templars will slay your body, and we will repeat this again." 

"Exactly," I say. "So let me complete my damned Harrowing now, and I will let you out afterward. Alright?" 

The pride demon seems to think on that for several long moments before finally saying, "Very well. That is acceptable." 

My vision goes blurry and my head spins, and then the world goes away. 

* * *

I wake in the apprentice dorms. What happened? Did the templars kill me anyway? Did I fail my Harrowing yet again because of this foolish agreement? Surely Irving had no way of watching what I was doing in the Fade. Or did he? I have no idea. 

"You're finally awake!" Jowan says next to my bed. "I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up, after the templars brought you back from your Harrowing." 

I let out a quiet sigh of relief. It's another day. I've passed my Harrowing. "How long was I out?" 

"You've been asleep all day!" Jowan says. "It's almost time for dinner." 

I have to chuckle softly. Considering that there have been times in other lives that I was out for several days because of something unfortunate happening, being out for a few hours isn't really much cause of concern for me. 

"What was it like?" Jowan says, wringing his hands nervously. "The Harrowing, I mean. I know you're not supposed to talk about it, but can you at least give me a hint?" 

I rub my eyes. "A hint? They're fucking hypocrites and the Harrowing is an insanely stupid idea. I can't believe they do this." 

"Was it that bad?" Jowan whispers. 

"Maker, don't ask me about it," I say. "I don't even want to talk about it." 

"Alright," Jowan says, face falling. "First Enchanter Irving said that he wanted to see you as soon as you woke up." 

I frown. _Did_ he know about what happened in the Fade after all? Or is this just the typical post-Harrowing pep talk? If they knew I'd made a deal with a demon, would they decide to make me Tranquil instead? I can't help but be paranoid. 

"I'd better head up to see him, then," I say with a sigh. 

I get up and leave the dorm, and run into Gellert in the corridor outside. He casually puts up a privacy spell and steps in beside me. "I take it things went better that time?" 

"I told our new friend that we'd let him into the material plane later," I say. 

Gellert nods. "I'll see about getting a demonic summoning ritual set up for tonight." 

"You know _way_ too much about demonic rituals," I say. 

"What can I say?" Gellert says with a shrug. "I _was_ a Dark Lord. Have fun with Irving." He turns and heads off, parting ways with me at the First Enchanter's office. 

There are voices coming from inside the office, and I step through the door. First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir are inside, along with a dark-skinned man wearing strange armor and entirely too many belts. 

"Many of the senior mages have already gone to Ostagar for the war effort," Greagoir is saying. "Uldred and Wynne have already left. How much more would you have us commit to fighting the darkspawn?" 

"It is good for them to have a chance to get out and use their Maker-given powers for a good cause," Irving says. "Or would you prefer to have them remain firmly under the thumb of the Chantry at all times?" 

Greagoir's offended response is cut off by the odd foreign human, who says, "Irving, I believe there is someone here to see you." 

"Ah, yes," Irving says. "Duncan, this is Lexen, my star pupil, the one I was telling you about. He completed his Harrowing last night in record time." 

Tension floods out of my body at that. They're not going to make me Tranquil. They're praising and congratulating me. What a relief. Praising me for entirely the wrong things, but I'll take what I can get. 

"We will speak later, Irving," Greagoir says, leaving the room. 

"Lexen, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens," Irving says, gesturing to the well-armed man. 

I give a bow toward Duncan. "It is a pleasure to meet you. I fear I am not too familiar with the Grey Wardens, however, beyond myths and legends in old books." 

"We are an ancient order dedicated to combating the threat of the darkspawn," Duncan says. "I will speak tell you more later if you wish. I believe Irving had some things he wished to say to you first." 

"Yes," Irving says. "This is a joyous day for you, Lexen. Today, you have a become a full member of the Circle of Magi. Your phylactery has been taken to Denerim for safe-keeping. I present to you your robes, staff, and a ring bearing the Circle insignia. Bear them proudly. The day is yours, to do with as you please." His eyes twinkle in a positively Dumbledore-like manner. "Although, I don't think I need to tell _you_ , of all people, to do as you please." 

I chuckle softly, and take the items he hands to me. "Thank you, First Enchanter." 

"Before you do, however, could you do me a favor and escort Duncan to his quarters?" Irving says. "They're down the corridor and on the left. I must speak with Greagoir now." 

"Of course," I say. I slip the ring onto my finger, tuck my new robes into my bag for the moment, and heft the staff. I always did prefer swords to these clumsy chunks of wood, or at the very least, a wand. You can't do delicate spellwork with a staff very easily. It's like trying to paint a mural with a roller brush. But I can appreciate the bit of extra power. 

I head out into the corridor, Duncan strolling along beside me. I'm not quite sure _where_ precisely the guest quarters he's staying in might be, but I'm not too concerned about that at the moment. I want to talk to him, most importantly. He's a stranger, an outsider, dressed oddly, and therefore interesting. 

"Have there been darkspawn problems lately?" I ask. "I read that they were all destroyed for good centuries ago." 

"If only they had been," Duncan says. "But no, they always seem to come back no matter what we do. They have been amassing a horde to the south of here, in the Korcari Wilds. I believe another Blight may be starting." 

My eyes light up at that, and I have to restrain the urge to smile maniacally. If I could get out of this tower and join up with the army at Ostagar, I could have a chance to kill things that everyone agrees are bad! Sure, I've never actually _seen_ darkspawn before, but it's always nice to be able to slaughter without consequence, even being praised for causing destruction. 

"Do you think they'd let me go fight?" I ask. 

"Perhaps," Duncan says enigmatically. "We'll see. So eager to see combat, are you? The darkspawn are a serious threat. This would not merely be a vacation outside of the tower." 

"I know," I say. "Being in the tower has been something of a vacation, for the most part. But I was always better at offensive spells." 

"Ah, here we are," Duncan says, turning and stepping into a side room. "Thank you for escorting me to my quarters. I'm sure you have other things you wish to be doing today than talking to the likes of me, although perhaps we will speak again before I leave." 

I give a nod. "Have a nice stay. I hope you find the support you're looking for." 

I head back out into the corridor and make my way back to the apprentice dorms. I make it all the way back there before I remember that I should be being moved to the mage quarters upstairs. 

Jowan is here, and he approaches me. "Are you done talking to Irving?" 

I nod. "Is something wrong, Jowan?" I flick my fingers and put up a privacy spell out of long habit and paranoia. I like to have that spell up even if we're not talking about anything sensitive. It only takes one slip, and our cover is blown. 

"I don't feel comfortable talking here," Jowan says, peering about suspiciously. 

"I do have a privacy spell up," I say. "And the way you're acting so nervously makes you look incriminating. Relax." 

"Still, can we go somewhere more private?" Jowan says. 

"Sure," I say, shrugging. 

Jowan leads me off upstairs, and into the tower's small chapel. I haven't spent a lot of time hanging out in here, aside from obligatorily and for research purposes, to help me blend in to this world by learning about its major religion. However, since I haven't seen any sign that its priests have been granted any real powers by the Maker, or that the Maker actually does anything at all, it has been a purely academic interest. 

Jowan leads me over into an alcove and stands next to a woman in Chantry robes. "Alright, we should be safe here." 

I raise an eyebrow, absently shifting my spell to include the priest in it. "Jowan?" 

"Remember a while back, that I told you that I met a girl?" 

"No, you didn't," I say. 

"Didn't I?" 

"I think I would have remembered that," I say. "Considering the rest of us are all gay. We would have all thoroughly mocked you for the rest of the month and changed your nickname to the Straight Man." 

"What about Kirlin?" 

"I haven't seen her express interest on anyone of either sex," I say, shrugging. 

"Maybe she's just more discreet than some of you," Jowan says. 

Meanwhile, the priest is looking mortified. "Jowan did mention that he had... interesting friends. I see what he means, now." 

Jowan clears his throat. "Anyway. Lexen, this is Lily." 

I chuckle softly, and say, "Nice to meet you. So, Jowan, you have a thing for priests? A hankering for forbidden romance? I had no idea." 

"Lexen, they're going to make me Tranquil!" Jowan says. "It's not just paranoia. I know for certain now!" 

"How did you find out?" I ask. 

"I saw the document on Greagoir's table," Lily says. "Signed and authorized already." 

"Why would they do such a thing?" I wonder. 

"There have been rumors spreading that I've been dabbling in blood magic," Jowan says. 

"So, have you?" I ask. 

"No, of course not!" Jowan quickly protests. "I've been sneaking around to see Lily, so they must have thought I was doing something forbidden. Well, I have, but a different forbidden thing." 

I snort softly. "We've _all_ been sneaking around, ever since we arrived at the tower as children, and of all our group, you're not exactly at the top of the list to be likely candidates for blood magic." 

"You and Gellert get all the praise because you're better at magic, though," Jowan says. "I'll never be half as good as either of you." 

I sigh. "Alright. So we're going to have to do something about this." 

"I can get us into the repository," Lily says. "The first door can only be opened by a mage and a member of the Chantry entering together." 

"Maker, that would explain why we've never managed to get in," I mutter. 

"The second door, however, has two locks on it," Lily says. "The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander each carry one of the keys." 

"Not much chance of us managing to get both of them," Jowan says. "Say, I saw a rod of fire melt a lock once! Maybe we could use one of those to get in." 

I snort softly. "Oh yeah, that would be real inconspicuous. No, leave that to me," I say. "I can unlock just about anything." 

"Are you sure?" Jowan says. 

"Absolutely," I say. "Alright, how about we meet up after midnight, and we can sneak in?" 

Jowan and Lily nod. "I just hope this works," Jowan says. "I don't want to be Tranquil..." 

"Don't worry, my love," Lily says, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "We'll get you out of here safely." 

* * *

After taking an hour-long nap and changing into my new robes, I locate Gellert on the Marauder's Map, hidden off in a corner of the library and tucked behind so many concealment charms that I wouldn't have even known he were there if the map hadn't shown him, and he probably keyed me to the wards anyway. 

"You have everything ready, I take it?" I ask, stepping through the wards and approaching the circle of runes he has drawn on the floor in blood. 

"Yup," Gellert says. "Going to need your help with it, since the demon is bound to _you_ , of course." 

"What's the rat for?" I ask, pointing to the unconscious rodent laying by the circle. 

"That's a mouse, not a rat," Gellert corrects. 

"Whatever." 

"Anyway, after the Mr. Wiggums incident, I realized that animals make perfectly fine vessels for demons," Gellert says. "And after the damned cat was killed, there have been more mice running around the tower, so I caught one to use for the ritual." 

"You want to put Mouse into a mouse?" I say, raising an eyebrow and smirking in amusement. 

"Fitting, isn't it?" Gellert says, chuckling. "A human would be missed. Nobody will notice a mouse, though." 

I give a nod. "Alright, let's do this. The hour of midnight is upon us." 

We get into position, and Gellert begins to chant in unearthly words, placing the little mouse in the circle. I help how I can, following his lead and instructions. Demonic magic isn't something I was ever too inclined to want to learn. Gellert's the expert on that here. I can't believe I'm actually doing this, but I did agree to it, even if I have to call myself a fool for it. 

Our spilled blood swirls in the air around the mouse as it rises into the air, glowing with eldritch reddish-purple light. Then, the small, furry body settles back onto the floor, and glowing demonic eyes snap open. 

"What is this?" speaks the rodent in a deep, rumbling voice. "You put me into the body of a mouse!" 

"Yes, we did," I say. 

"How dare you! I should destroy you for this!" 

"Except that if you were to kill me, we'd just go back in time a few hours, and you'd be stuck in the Fade again, and I'd be less inclined to let you out again." 

"This is not much in the way of freedom to see the world of mortals with," Mouse protests. 

"You're not stupid," I say. "Think on what you were telling me before, in the Fade. How you could avoid notice by being small. Nobody will notice a mouse, and you will be able to see things and get into places that you would otherwise never be able to." 

"I wanted _your_ body!" 

"Sorry, can't let you have it," I say. "I'm busy using it myself." I smirk. 

"Look, Mouse. Here's the way it is," Gellert says. "You can make him happy, and all the multiverse will be your playground." Gellert gestures. "Or you can piss him off, and he _will_ find a way to wipe you from existence, one way or another." 

The mouse blinks its glowing magenta eyes. "You _will_ take me along with you wherever you go." 

"Of course," I say. "And if all goes well, I'll be getting out of this damned tower shortly, too." 

"However, the whole glowing eyes, demonic voice thing is rather unsubtle," Gellert points out. 

"I can be subtle," Mouse says. The eyes stop glowing, and when he speaks again, his voice is that of the apprentice he was pretending to be when I first met him. "Better?" 

"Better," Gellert says. "Although I think talking mice are still uncommon." He chuckles. 

"What would you have me do, pretend to be a common rodent?" the pride demon says, offended. 

"No, talking is fine," I say. "I'll explain it somehow." I shrug. "Just try to stay quiet at least until we get out of the tower, alright?" 

"I do not need a mortal ordering me around!" 

I roll my eyes. "I'm not _ordering_ you to do _anything_. I believe in the freedom of all beings, and I suppose I can generously include demons in that, too. I am, however, making helpful suggestions that will improve our chances of getting out of being killed too many times and without me being made Tranquil in the process. The people inside the tower aren't likely to be fooled, and will send you right back to the Fade in an instant if they figure out what you are." 

Mouse is quiet for a few moments, and then scurries up my robe to settle into a pocket, poking his head out and twitching his whiskers. "Fine. I'll stay quiet for the moment. So long as I can watch." 

I grin, and nod. "Alright. Let's go, then." I pull out the map. "Let's gather up the Marauders. We have more business to take care of tonight." 

Gellert waves the Elder Wand to clean up the area, remove any trace of the ritual that was performed here, and bring down the wards. "There might be some residual magic hanging about the area for a while," Gellert says. "Let's hope nobody looks too closely. Or if they do, that we're long gone by that point." 

With the help of the map, we collect Kirlin, Anders, and Jowan without attracting attention from any patrolling templars. 

"Do you still think they're going to make Jowan Tranquil?" Kirlin wonders. 

"It's true, though!" Jowan says. "Lily wouldn't lie about something like this!" 

"Who's Lily?" Anders wonders. 

"Turns out Jowan's straight," I say, unable to keep a straight face about it. "Imagine that." 

"Maker, I never would have guessed," Gellert says. 

"Very funny," Jowan says, rolling his eyes. 

"Anyway, it seems Lily actually saw documents authorizing them to perform the Rite of Tranquility upon Jowan," I say. "So, I say we don't let them. We break into the repository with Lily's help, destroy Jowan's phylactery, and help him escape." 

"This is foolishness," Kirlin says. "I won't have anything to do with this." 

"I wonder if mine's still being kept here," Anders says. "I doubt it, though. I think they only keep apprentice phylacteries at the tower itself." 

"There's probably some interesting stuff down there besides phylacteries, too," Gellert says. 

"I need someone to keep an eye on the map and look out for trouble, too," I say. "If anything goes wrong, I don't want too many people to be implicated as being involved in this." 

Gellert knows that I mean too many people who aren't bound to me. Taking Jowan along is obvious, but I don't want Anders to be getting himself into more trouble than he's already been in. 

"Anders and I can keep watch," Gellert says, casting a disappointed look toward Kirlin. "Anders won't be able to get a message off to you by himself if we spot trouble." 

If Kirlin were feeling more cooperative, she and Anders would be perfect to keep watch, and Gellert could go with us. As it is, I just hope she doesn't turn us in or something. But that's just paranoia. We've known her since we were children. She'd never betray us. 

"Gellert, can you stun me real quick?" I say. 

"Sure thing." He hits me with a Stunning Spell, and then revives me again wordlessly. 

The others look at me strangely. I've never actually told them about my power. It's generally safe enough in the tower that it has rarely been necessary to use it, but I'm feeling paranoid tonight. I'm tense, on edge, and my heart is racing. Everything could still go wrong tonight, and I want to be prepared. 

Leaving Kirlin behind, the rest of us go to collect Lily and make our way down to the entrance to the basement. 

"These are the rest of your friends, I take it?" Lily asks. 

"These are Anders and Gellert," Jowan says. "Kirlin... declined to come along." 

"And we're going to take up a position out of sight and keep an eye out for trouble," Gellert says, grinning to her. "Go get 'em, folks. We've got your back." 

Gellert and Anders slip off with the map, leaving Jowan, Lily, and I to head into the basement. We approach the large door that my friends and I have examined probably hundreds of times and could never find a way past. 

"Alright, here we are," Lily says. "A password needs to be spoken by a member of the Chantry in order to prime the door, and then a full mage who has passed his Harrowing must give it a taste of mana to open it." She raises her hand toward the door and speaks, "Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade." There's a sound from the door, and she nods to me to do my part. 

"Right," I say, lifting my left hand to the door and letting forth a short zap of electricity. The door obediently swings open. 

We head inside, and Lily leads us up to one of the doors past the first one. "I hope you were right about being able to open any lock, Lexen." 

I chuckle, and say, "I believe in freedom for all beings. It's time to take our freedom!" I go to call upon my magic to open the door, but nothing happens. It's as though my magic won't touch the door at all. 

"I knew we should have gotten a rod of fire," Jowan mutters. 

"Andraste's ashes," I say, shaking my head. "That wouldn't have helped. It's warded against magic. _No_ mage can open this door." 

"Of course!" Lily says. "I should have realized it sooner. Why else would they use such simple keys?" 

"There has to be another way inside," Jowan says. "I haven't come this far to give up now." 

"Unless one of you has some lockpicking tools and knows how to use them, I'd suggest taking another door and exploring the rest of this basement to see if we can find a back door we could use." 

"How about this door?" Lily says, heading down another short hallway to indicate a different door. 

"You can open the locks on _this_ one, surely, can't you?" Jowan says. 

"I certainly hope so, or this is going to be one very embarrassing evening," I say. I push forth my magic to force open the locks on the door, and in moments, it swings open with a clatter. "Got it!" 

There's another clatter, as the previously inanimate suit of armor next to us moves to attack us. 

"Uh..." Jowan says. "This could be a problem!" He lifts his staff and calls forth magic to defend himself. 

Between the three of us, the armor shortly returns to its previously inanimate state, somewhat worse for wear as it lays out on the floor in pieces. Mouse pokes his head out of my pocket again. I absently cast a protective spell over him to make sure nothing inadvertently squishes him along the way. 

"Excellent, something to fight," I say gleefully. 

"You are entirely too excited about the prospect of violence," Lily says. 

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since I was able to unleash my full power on something without having to hold back so I didn't hurt someone I didn't want to hurt or destroy something I didn't want to destroy?" 

We make our way through corridors and storerooms, fighting more of the animated guardians as we go. I make sure to take a thorough accounting of the possessions of the tower, and wind up stuffing a number of things into my bag of holding. 

"They're going to catch us down here if you stop to swipe everything that looks even vaguely interesting," Jowan says. 

"Relax, Gellert will warn us if there's any problems." 

Deep within the recesses of the basement, we come upon a room containing an odd statue. As we're poking at it, it starts to speak to us in a woman's voice. "I am Eleni Zinovia, formerly consort and advisor to Archon Valerius. My crime was prophecy, in foretelling the fall of my lord's house, and so I was cursed to stone." 

"Well, he was obviously an idiot, then," I say. "The future isn't _set_ in stone. Although you clearly weren't much of a prophetess if you couldn't come up with any suggestions for how to avoid that fate." 

"He did not heed my warnings, and thus he told me, 'Here you shall stand upon the threshold of my fortress, and tell your lies to all who pass for all eternity.'" 

"We should leave it alone," Lily says. "It's a Tevinter statue. They dabbled in forbidden arts." 

I snort softly. "If the Tevinters liked dogs, would that make dogs evil?" 

"Fereldans like dogs, not Tevinters," Jowan says. 

"You who bear the hope of a thousand worlds," the statue intones. "Blood of the dragon, child of the stars..." 

"Huh, so you actually _are_ a seer," I say. "Okay." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jowan says. 

"A dark path stretches at your feet," the statue speaks. "Oblivion lies before you. But in the end, the last enemy you must defeat is yourself." 

I snort softly. "I am not my own enemy. Well, not unless I wind up having to fight another version of myself somehow through some convoluted time travel bullshit, at any rate." 

"Please, let's stop talking to it," Lily says. "We should just find the phylacteries and get out of here." 

"You do not understand, but you will, in time. But how much death and suffering must you face first?" 

I roll my eyes at the statue and move away. "Let's get this thing done." 

A silvery phoenix appears before us, and speaks in Gellert's voice, "Got a problem, guys. I think Kirlin narked on us." 

"What is that?" Lily says, jumping in alarm. 

"Gellert's messenger spell," Jowan says. "More importantly, what does 'narked' even mean?" 

"I have no idea," I say. "But at a blind guess, I think he means Kirlin has betrayed us." 

"We should hurry, then," Lily says. 

"This wall looks like it's about to collapse," Jowan says. "Here, help me move this bookcase out of the way." 

"You're a mage, and I'm a mage, and you want us to move a heavy bookcase by _hand_?" I say incredulously. "Come on, that's what magic is for." 

I wave my hand at the bookcase and think, _Locomotor_. The bookcase slowly shuffles out of the way, revealing an old, cracked wall with crumbling mortar. 

"Nice," Jowan says. "Now, if we can just bring down this wall, we've got our back door. Hmm, take a look at this statue." He indicates a statue of what might be a panther. 

"Why are there so many Tevinter artifacts down here?" Lily wonders. 

"Why not?" I say. "Would you prefer them to be lining the corridors upstairs? Obviously, this place is where they put stuff that they don't really want to look at, but might be valuable so they can't throw them away." 

"I've heard of things like this," Jowan says. "They amplify any spell you cast into them." 

"Hmm," I say, lifting my hands. I send a burst of electricity into the cat statue. A massive bolt of lightning erupts from its mouth and slams into the wall, sending shards of stone flying. 

Lily shields her face with an arm, and coughs a bit. "Well, I suppose that worked." 

I cast a Feather-Weight Charm over the statue. It seems to work to amplify that as well, making itself light enough to lift, if a bit large and unwieldy still. I then cast a spell to try to shrink it down. It promptly vanishes. 

"Uh... oops," I say. 

"What did you do?" Lily wonders. 

"I shrank it," I say. "And I think it amplified the shrinking to the point where now I can't see it." 

"Nice going, Lexen," Jowan says. "Maybe you should just leave it here." 

"But it might come in handy later!" I say, waving a general counterspell over the area. The panther statue reappears sitting where it was before, full-sized. 

Gellert's phoenix Patronus appears again. "Heads up, I think you've got company on the way. Irving and Greagoir are heading downstairs." 

"Please stop playing with the Tevinter artifacts and let's go," Lily says. "I think that's the phylactery chamber in there." 

"Alright, alright," I say. 

We head inside. It's not a very large room, all things considered, and I try to think of how many apprentices are actually in the tower at the moment. 

"Come on, let's find my phylactery," Jowan says. "Which one is mine?" 

"Who cares?" I say. I let electricity crackle around me, sending small jolts of lightning flying in every directions. Glass shatters, and blood spills out upon the tables, shelves, across the floor, as every phylactery in the room is broken. "Freedom! Freedom for all mages! _Freedom for all beings!_ " 

"Maker's breath," Lily murmurs. "You destroyed them? You destroyed them _all_? I just meant for you to get Jowan's, not all of them!" 

" _No one_ should be imprisoned like this," I say. "If I knew where anyone else's phylacteries were being kept, I would destroy those as well." 

The phoenix Patronus shows up one more time and says, "Irving and Greagoir are waiting for you _right outside_ the entrance to the basement. Several templars are with them, too." 

"Oh, Maker," Lily says. 

"This is all your fault, you know," Jowan says. "You kept wasting time with those stupid statues." 

"I won't argue the blame," I say. "So I'll take responsibility for it. I'll take point and keep them occupied. You two make a break for it." 

"But you could be killed!" Lily says. 

I flash a grin at her. "So Andraste went to the flames?" I chuckle softly. "Let's do this." 

I hold my staff at ready before me, letting a small storm crackle around me, and step forth out of the repository. Thankfully, the second door opens much more readily from the inside than outside, sparing us the need to take the long way out. 

There's no way that I can take on that many templars by myself. I'm going to be killed, and I know it. I just hope that I can give this timeline's Jowan and Lily the chance they need to get out of here before I do. On the next loop, I can just do it faster and not waste so much time needlessly. That should be easy enough to do. 

I charge forth toward the templars. I am the eye of the storm! Armored men are thrown aside left and right. I'm not paying attention to what Jowan and Lily are doing now. I have other concerns. Only the battle matters now. They can take care of themselves from here on out. 

Then, my magic fails me, a shield impacts my skull, and the world winks out. 

* * *

My eyes slide open. My mind is still fuzzy from mana exhaustion, but I'm quite clearly not in a bed, nor among my friends. I'm laying on a cold stone floor, and there are templars standing watch over me with swords pointed down at me. Fuck, I didn't actually die? 

"Maker's breath, I can't believe I'm still alive after that," I mutter. 

"You _should_ be!" Greagoir says. "What were you thinking? And your damned blood mage friend and that traitorous initiate managed to escape in the confusion, too!" 

"Thank the Maker for that, at least," I say, sitting up slowly and cupping my head in my hands dizzily. Mouse wriggles and shifts in my pocket. "And if Jowan was actually a blood mage, I'll eat my robes." 

"I had hoped better of you, Lexen," Irving says. "Barely a full mage, and now you've assaulted several templars. It is fortunate for you that none of them were actually killed." 

"Still, he assisted a blood mage," Greagoir says. "He _must_ be punished." 

"If I might propose an alternative?" says Duncan, approaching us. "I did not come merely to drum up support for the king's army. I had hoped to recruit for the Grey Wardens as well." 

I slowly climb to my feet to look over at him. My head is clearing, but I still have no mana in me. I wish I could drink down a lyrium potion, but with all these swords pointed at me, I don't dare make any moves that could be interpreted as aggressive. Not when I'll only be going back two minutes if I die here. 

"After the crimes he has committed, you would reward him by making him a Grey Warden instead?" Greagoir growls. "This is an outrage!" 

"It is, however, out of our hands should Duncan choose to recruit him," Irving says to him gently. "The Right of Conscription allows them to take any they wish into their ranks, from criminals to kings." 

"There are greater dangers in this world than blood magic, Greagoir," Duncan says. "This young man is powerful and possessed of the courage to risk his own life in order to help his friends." 

"Pity that he has such poor choice in friends," Greagoir snarls, shoving his sword back into is scabbard. "Fine, then. If you want him, take him, then. And may the darkspawn eat him." 

The other templars follow his example, and stand down and file out of the area behind him. Duncan heads toward the tower doors, and I follow after him. When we get there, however, Gellert and Anders are already waiting for us. 

"Don't keep us in suspense," Gellert says. "What in Andraste's name happened?" 

"Friends of yours?" Duncan says. 

I nod. "Duncan has recruited me into the Grey Wardens." 

"The Grey Wardens, huh?" Anders says. 

Gellert's eyes widen. "I don't suppose you'll take anyone else, too?" 

"Much as I would like to, I'm afraid I'm only recruiting Lexen at this time," Duncan says, and chuckles. "I think that's pushing my luck with Greagoir enough as it is. He would probably have a fit if I tried to take all of his friends, as well." 

"Or be glad we were out of his hair," Gellert says with a grin. "Alright, fine then. Go have fun killing darkspawn. I've got reading to do." 

"Hey, you never know, maybe I'll find some ancient, long-forgotten tomes of arcane lore, too," I say. 

"This is so weird," Anders says. "Everyone is escaping from the tower _except_ me, today." 


	5. Traveling with Duncan

The boat creaks a little as I step into it. Duncan takes up the oars to row us across Lake Calenhad. I finally take the opportunity to drink down one of the lyrium potions in my bag. I feel _much_ better with mana in my veins. 

"I can handle this," I say with a grin. I wave a hand, and cast a spell to make the boat move on its own. 

"Ah," Duncan says, chuckling, and puts the oars down. "I'm sure you must be eager to put your magic to good use." 

"No kidding," I say, leaning back in the boat and looking up at the stars. The beautiful, beautiful stars. I take a deep breath of freedom, and smile broadly. 

Mouse pokes his head out of my pocket, and says, "You're out of the tower. I can talk now!" 

Duncan blinks. "You have a talking mouse?" 

I shrug and say, "I have a talking mouse. Don't ask me to explain it." 

"He has a talking mouse," the rodent replies. "Is that really so unusual?" 

"Well..." Duncan says. "I have to admit that yes, yes it is." 

"Let's just call it magic and leave it at that," I say, smirking. "I've had one fuck of a day..." I yawn involuntarily. 

"We can rest at the inn in the town on the other side of the lake," Duncan says. "I mainly wanted to get you out of the tower before Greagoir decided to do anything rash." 

"Understandably," I say. 

"Damned templars," Mouse mutters. 

"They have a difficult task," Duncan says. 

"Forgive me if I'm not overly fond of them," I say. "But that's no matter. You got me out of that tower, so I'll happily kill all the darkspawn you want." 

"I'm glad to hear it," Duncan says. 

"Any Grey Warden rules that I should know about up front?" I ask. 

"Fighting the darkspawn is our purpose, and it must take priority over all other things," Duncan says. "We must use any means at our disposal to fight them." 

"That serious, huh?" I say. "So you really _can_ conscript anyone from criminals to kings? I thought he must have been exaggerating." 

The boat bumps against the shore, and Duncan climbs out, and helps me out. I waver a little on my feet, and steady myself. This has been my most eventful day in this world, bar none. Even all the skulking around the tower and helping Anders escape time and again didn't compare to this. I'm not used to all the action anymore. I feel like I'm getting old. Ah, well. I'll get used to it again. My blood rushes in my veins in anticipation. All the screwing around in the tower was fun and all, but now I finally feel _alive_ again. 

"It's true," Duncan says, strolling toward a large building some ways away from the rocky shore. "But it's never without consequences. Conscripting criminals is fairly common, however. We see their skills, and put them to good use against the darkspawn." 

"Like me, huh?" I say, quirking a grin at him. 

Duncan inclines his head toward me. 

"Would you have taken me even if I were a blood mage with a penchant for summoning demons?" I ask. 

"I might have been more hesitant," Duncan says. "But if I believed that you were willing to put those talents to use against the darkspawn, then yes." 

"Well, that's good," I say. "Because I've, er, done some blood magic and demon summoning in my day." 

Mouse is snickering. 

"I... see," Duncan says. "Yet you did not use those against the templars in order to escape?" 

"I wasn't actually trying to kill anyone," I say. "I just wanted to make a distraction for Jowan and Lily. I'd generally rather not kill _people_ if I can help it, you know?" 

"Bravery, selflessness, compassion?" Duncan says, chuckling. "Yes, I believe I made a good choice. You will make for a fine Grey Warden. Being a Grey Warden is a duty, a sacrifice, for the sake of protecting the world from destruction." 

I give a nod as we step inside the inn. This late at night, there isn't anyone in the common area but a drunken elf sleeping against a table next to an empty tankard, and a tired-looking female dwarf. 

"Grey Wardens?" the dwarf says. "Will you be wanting a room?" 

"Yes, please," Duncan says, pulling out a bag and passing over the amount of money requested. 

We head into the room, and I head inside and slump down onto the bed. "You didn't actually get to use that guest room in the tower for very long, did you." 

Duncan chuckles and starts to remove his armor and many, many belts. "No, but that's alright. I got what I came for." 

"So, out of curiosity," I say. "How many belts do you have? They _are_ enchanted, aren't they? What sort of effects do they have?" 

Duncan sighs. "Go to bed, Lexen." 

* * *

I wake, and start in alarm as I don't recognize where I am at first. Oh, wait. Now I remember. I'm at the inn by Lake Calenhad. I'm _free!_ I beam in elation and relax back into my pillow for a little bit longer. 

The sun is already high in the sky from the looks of things, and Duncan isn't in the room at the moment. Mouse is on the floor at the foot of the bed, nibbling on some crumbs. 

"What're you doing?" I wonder absently as I go to get dressed. 

"I had heard that mice were supposed to like cheese," the pride demon comments. "So I went and raided the larder and tried some things out. The cheese? Terrible! But I can't get enough of these cookies. Lexen! You will acquire more cookies for me!" 

"I thought you were a pride demon, not a hunger demon," I say. 

"If I were a hunger demon, I would have devoured you and everything else in sight by now, all while screaming 'Rawr!' and other inarticulate nonsense." 

"Your mouse is a pride demon?" says Duncan from the doorway. 

I snort softly. "I knew one of these days I'd forget to cast a privacy spell first and wind up saying something incriminating." I wave my fingers. "There. Privacy spell. Yes, the mouse is a pride demon. Will that be a problem? Let me know now if you intend to kill me over it." 

Duncan closes the door behind him. "That would explain why the mouse talks, at any rate..." 

Mouse allows his eyes to glow and speaks in a deep, demonic voice, "Our enemies shall rue the day they crossed us!" 

" _Our_ enemies, now?" I say. 

Mouse goes back to a normal voice again and says, "You agreed to get me cookies." 

"I did not." 

Mouse returns to the demonic voice. "You shall rue the day you refused my wishes!" 

I roll my eyes. "I didn't say I wouldn't, either." 

"Oh," Mouse says in a normal voice. "Well, will you?" 

"Will you ask nicely?" I say, grinning. 

"Nicely?" 

"Say 'please'," I say. 

"I am a pride demon!" Back to the demonic voice again. "I will not stoop to begging for scraps from a mortal!" 

I laugh aloud. "I'm just screwing with you. Of course I'll get you cookies." 

"Excellent," Mouse says in almost a squeak. 

Duncan has been staring at us the entire time. "You do not seem to be afraid of this demon at all." 

"It's complicated," I say, shrugging. 

"It would be well not to be complacent around dangerous beings." 

"Complacent? No," I say. "I'm fully prepared to find a way to wipe him from existence if he pisses me off." 

"You are barely out of your apprenticeship," Duncan says. "You believe yourself capable of taking down a pride demon?" 

I lean back on my hands and debate mentally for a few moments. Should I tell him the truth? Can I trust Duncan that much? I didn't even trust Anders, Kirlin, and Jowan that much. I haven't even told Mouse the full extent of things. 

He saved me from the tower. He prevented the templars from killing me or worse. He readily accepted my darker abilities, and hasn't gone spare over the fact that I have a pet pride demon. I think, if there's anyone in this world that I can trust, Duncan is probably it. 

"Duncan, there are some things that you should probably know about me," I say, quietly putting up a few more warding spells out of paranoia. "What I'm about to tell you, I have told to _no one_ else of this world." 

"Of this world?" Duncan repeats, going over to take a seat, but still warily keeping an eye on Mouse. 

I give a nod. "You see, I'm not originally from this world at all." I snort softly. "I pretended to be a child to get into the tower, thinking it just another magic school, and not realizing that it was a prison. The other worlds I've visited, the mages were usually the ones in charge, if anything, or just completely separate from the mundane people." 

"Ruling magisters, like the Tevinter Imperium?" Duncan says. "How did you get to this world, then?" 

"There's a city, in our version of the Fade, called Torn Elkandu," I say. "It's said to be the center of the universe. At its heart, there is a powerful magical artifact capable of crossing the space between worlds in the span of a breath." 

"Your Black City was never corrupted?" Duncan says. 

"I can see the similarities between those stories," I say, and chuckle. "But I'm not sure that they're directly analagous. Our Maker is also a petulent child whose temples seem more like toy stores or candy shops." 

"I think I like your Maker better," Mouse says. 

"If this is some elaborate joke, it is in poor taste," Duncan says, frowning at me. 

"I have no way of showing you, so you'll just have to trust me, as I am trusting _you_ with this, of all the people in this world," I say. "I _can_ show you some items I brought from elsewhere, and some magic that I learned in other worlds that is unknown here, if you like." 

"Very well," Duncan says, nodding to me. 

"Alright, first off, this bag?" I say, pulling it out. "Where I come from, it's called a bag of holding. I've never seen anything like it in this world. It can hold quite a bit more than its small size would seem to indicate." 

I bring out several books from Wizarding Earth. 

"Did you get these from the tower library?" Duncan asks. 

I shake my head. "They're from another world. Here, check this out." I open up my copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ , and show him some pictures of creatures that don't exist in this world. 

"Fascinating," Duncan murmurs, looking over it intently. 

Mouse scrambles up onto Duncan's lap to look over the pages of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. Duncan tenses at that, looking down at the pride demon uneasily, but eases off after a few moments when it becomes clear that he's simply curious about the book. 

I take my pine wand out of my bag next. I usually keep it safely tucked away so that it doesn't get broken or lost or anything, since I have no way of replacing it here, short of getting Gellert to repair it with the Elder Wand. 

"At the magic school Hogwarts, children are taught to cast spells using wands like this as a magical focus," I say. "Wandless magic isn't taught until they are older, and few learn much of it at all. Magic in that world doesn't tend to be as powerful, but it makes up for that with detail and precision. On the other hand, cases of possession are much rarer." 

"Alright, I'm starting to think that this is a bit unlikely to be merely a joke," Duncan says. 

"Now, let me show you a spell that's unheard of in this world," I say. "This is called the Patronus Charm. It requires a lot of power and precision, and is fueled by emotions of happiness." I lift my wand and flick it, and think of the rainbow after the storm. All strife is fleeting. All troubles shall pass. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " 

The tip of my wand erupts in silver light, which coalesces into the shape of a translucent duck. Mouse squeaks and jumps, and scurries around to hide behind Duncan. The duck bristles at Mouse, and I quickly try to will it not to attack. 

The pride demon pokes his head out from behind the chair warily, and thunders, "What manner of mage _are_ you?" 

"What is this?" Duncan says. 

"Hmm," I say. "I was wondering at the similarity between a Patronus and that spirit of Valor I encountered in the Fade." 

"You were _wondering_ , you say?" Mouse squeaks, cautiously coming out into the open again. "I have no idea how you did that. It _is_ a spirit, though." 

"Heh," I say. "The thing is, I don't either. All I know is what I was taught. Think of a happy memory, wave the wand, say the words, and the Patronus comes out. They can help to defend against certain kinds of creatures, or to send messages. And most people didn't know about the sending messages part. I have no idea what their full capabilities might be." 

"Is it a common thing in this world you mention to be able to do the impossible but have no idea how you did it?" Duncan asks. 

"Yeah, I think that pretty well sums it up," I say, chuckling. "Alright, Ducky? Can you find Tom for me, but _not_ show yourself to him if he's not alone?" The spirit duck nods. "If he's alone, tell him, 'Hello, Tom. Where are you at these days?'" The Patronus nods again, and flies off into nowhere with my message. 

"I will not hide from a spirit of _happiness_ , or whatever that _thing_ is," Mouse grumbles barely audibly. 

"I think I'm going to have to believe your story, no matter how outlandish it sounds," Duncan says, eyes still wide at the demonstration. "Who is Tom?" 

"A friend of mine," I say. "I didn't come to this world alone. Three others came with me. Gellert, Tom, and Rispy. You saw Gellert in the tower, but Tom and Rispy were separated from me upon arrival." 

A silvery snake slithers into the room and speaks in Tom's voice, "Hello, Lexen. My family has been living in Lothering for the past several years now. That's a little village in the south of Ferelden. Are you still in the tower?" Its message delivered, the snake wisps out of existence. 

"Lothering?" Duncan says. "We'll be passing through there on the way to Ostagar. We should arrive there in about a week." 

"Excellent," I say, summoning up my Patronus again. "Tell Tom I'm out of the tower finally. I've been recruited by the Grey Wardens. I'll be passing through Lothering in a week. I look forward to seeing you then." The duck goes off with my reply. 

"That's a very useful method of sending messages," Duncan says. 

"It's not as good as one might hope for, though," I say. "Not every mage can do it at all, and it takes a particularly strong and... light, for lack of a better term... mage to be able to cast it without a wand. I tried to teach it to my friends at the tower, but only Kirlin was able to do it. Anders and Jowan weren't able to manage it." 

"You and Gellert aren't particularly 'light', yourselves," Mouse points out. 

I smirk. "This is true. Although Gellert and Tom aren't as _dark_ as they were at one point, either. It still took all three of us years of work to be able to cast that spell. It's not an easy one for us, by any means. But we managed it, with enough love, hope, joy, and all that rot." 

Mouse snorts softly. "That's easy for you to say. The _pride_ in you practically drips out. Why do you think I was drawn to you? You've got no small amount of rage, too." 

"I know," I say, smirking again. "Alright, if you've managed to swallow that I'm from another world, I've got another bomb to drop on you next." 

"There is more to it than that?" Duncan wonders. 

"Oh, yes," I say. "You see, I am what my people call a Time Mage. I can change my age at will, which is useful, but more importantly, I can't die. When I'd otherwise die, I just go back in time instead. I've lived through over a hundred years of experiences by this point. I'm not a raw apprentice that has never seen real action, but a probably slightly insane grizzled old war veteran that's been through hell and back." 

Duncan blinks at me slowly. "I... can see why you have not been eager to let others know of this ability. I'm finding this one harder to believe than being from another world." 

"It's true, though," Mouse says. 

I wink at Duncan, and shift my age down to five years old, then up to seventy, before returning to eighteen years old again. "Now, I can finally explain the pride demon. You see... I failed my Harrowing." 

"Failed it but good," Mouse agrees. 

"How?" Duncan wonders. 

"The demon tricked me into making a bargain with him," I say, wincing. "Much as it wounds my pride to admit to it." Mouse snickers softly. "The templars killed me. And if I were a normal person, that would have been that. Instead, the demon was connected to me, and came back in time with me." 

"Quite a shock to both of us, really," Mouse says. 

"So we came up with an arrangement to let me pass my Harrowing and get the demon out of the Fade," I say. "And that is why I have a talking mouse." 

"And this mouse is not unhappy with this arrangement." 

"And here I was expecting to merely be recruiting a promising apprentice with a penchant for bending the rules to do what he believes must be done," Duncan says. 

"I think that's it for big secrets that I can think of offhand," I say. "Still want me to be a Grey Warden? If you have a problem with any of this, I could always kill myself and go back to earlier today, and be more discreet." I grin at him. 

"Ah, no, that won't be necessary, I think," Duncan says. "While this might not be at all what I had expected, I believe I can work with this." 

"Glad to hear it," I say, grin broadening. "Because I was looking forward to killing some darkspawn." 

"I think it likely that you will get the opportunity to do so," Duncan says dryly. 

* * *

"Ugh, I feel sick," Mouse says, tiny claws clinging to the cloth at my shoulder. 

"If I have to clean mouse vomit off of my robes, you're going in my bag," I say, not looking up from the road between Redcliffe and Lothering. "You ate too many cookies." 

"That's possible?" Mouse says, groaning. 

"Stop," Duncan says, halting and looking about warily. "I sense darkspawn." 

"You can _sense_ them?" I say. 

"Indeed," Duncan says. "Grey Wardens can do so." 

"How many are there?" I wonder. 

"Perhaps a dozen," Duncan says. 

Mouse scurries down off my shoulder to take up a more secure position in my pocket. "Oh, good. Now I'll get to watch a _real_ fight where nobody's holding back trying not to hurt anyone." 

"Indeed, I would like to see what you are truly capable of," Duncan says. 

"Alright then," I say, grinning. "Those darkspawn won't know what hit them." 

In a few minutes, we're beset upon by strange humanoid creatures that I might generously compare to orcs or goblins. They swarm upon us without regard for strategy or tactics, screaming gutteral yells and flailing about with crude weaponry. 

But that only registers for an instant as I analyze their potential threat and tactics. Beyond that, my mind classifies them as enemies, and nothing else matters. Lightning erupts from my fingertips and a storm rages around me, striking down my enemies in rapid succession. They don't even manage to get close, and the couple of them firing at me with bows find that their arrows cannot pierce my shields. 

I let my hands fall and my storm subside when it registers that they're no longer moving. Duncan had drawn his twin blades, but they remain unused in his hands. He nods, and puts them away. 

"Not a particularly strong or well-organized group, but a good demonstration nonetheless," Duncan says. 

My heart is still pounding, my blood still charged with energy. It feels so _good_ to fight. I am a weapon whose life is to kill. 

"Lexen?" Duncan says, looking over to me with some concern. 

I blink over at him. "Duncan?" 

"Are you alright?" Duncan asks. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say. 

"You had a... look on your face for a moment there," Duncan says. "The sort of look I've seen on some old Grey Wardens." 

I chuckle softly. "I'm not surprised. I've been fighting since I was ten years old." 

"You enjoy fighting?" Duncan asks. 

"It seems sometimes like it's the only time I feel alive," I say. "I think if I'd stayed in the tower, I likely _would_ have eventually snapped and started trying to slaughter templars." 

"Good thing I came along and gave you something else to kill, then," Duncan says. 

"Indeed," I agree. 

* * *

Lothering is a sprawling, lazy bit of farmland built up around the crumbling Imperial Highway. It would probably be completely unremarkable if it weren't so close to the Korcari Wilds and the encroaching darkspawn. Things are quiet enough at the moment, however. These people are complacent, I think. 

"Ho! Lexen!" Tom's voice calls out, and I spot him waving over by a farmhouse a little ways away from the village proper. 

I run up to him, laughing. "Who're you calling a ho?" I hug him tightly. "I've missed you." 

"This would be your friend, I take it?" Duncan says, coming up behind me. 

"Who's this?" Tom asks, drawing away from me. 

"Tom, this is Duncan, the commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden," I say. Duncan inclines his head toward Tom. "Duncan, my dear friend and eternal companion, Thomas Hawke." 

"Hawke, hmm?" Duncan says. "You wouldn't happen to be related to a Malcolm Hawke, would you?" 

"He was my father," Tom says. "Did you know him?" 

"Was? Is he deceased, then?" Duncan asks. 

Tom nods. "Three years ago. Illness took him." 

"My condolences," Duncan says. "I did not know him, personally, but I had heard the name." 

Tom grabs my head and goes to drag me off. "Come, Lexen! I want you to meet my sister and mother!" 

I laugh lightly, and say, "Alright, alright! I'm coming!" 

"That's what you always say!" 

Duncan trails along behind us as Tom takes me to his home. It seems like a tiny hovel on the outside, but inside it's practically a sprawling manor. I have to wonder just how many charms Tom has put on the thing over the years. 

"Mum! Bethany!" Tom calls out. "I've brought company!" 

It's strange seeing Tom so excited and cheerful. He's practically bubbling over with happiness. He gives quick introductions to Leandra and Bethany Hawke, and offers Duncan a room for the night before dragging me off into his own. 

"You couldn't get me alone quick enough, could you," I say, laughing. 

"Twelve years, Lexen!" Tom says. "Twelve years! And I've hardly even spoken to you in the meantime." He grabs me by the collar and pins me onto the bed. "I'm not letting you out of my sight again." 

I grin up at him. "You're coming with me?" 

"Of course!" Tom says. "I've no interest in being a Grey Warden. But I will follow you, and stand by your side, slaughter your enemies, and protect you from harm." 

"Ugh, this is disgusting." Mouse wriggles out of my robes, drops onto the ground, and scurries toward the door. "I'm a pride demon, not a desire demon!" 

Tom blinks as the mouse leaves the room, and says, "You have a demonic mouse?" 

"Long story," I say. 

"Aren't they always?" 

* * *

Bethany hugs Tom as we're leaving in the morning. "Stay safe out there." 

"And give my love to Carver if you see him," Leandra says. 

I check to make sure that Mouse is safely tucked away in my pocket again. Asleep at the moment, it appears. I wonder, do demons dream? Are they even capable of it, being denizens of the world of dreams to begin with? 

"Tom is coming along to fight for the king's army as well?" Duncan asks, slinging his back over his shoulders. 

"No," Tom says, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. "I'm coming to fight for Lexen. Nothing else matters." 

"I see," Duncan says. "Well enough, then, if the result is the same, however." 

"If Lexen means to fight the darkspawn, then I will fight the darkspawn as well," Tom says. "My brother, Carver, went to join the king's army. I'm sure he'll be _pleased_ to see me." 

"You don't get along with your brother?" I say. 

"I get along with him fine," Tom says. "It's not always mutual, however. He seems to think I'm always trying to show him up, and wants to get out of my shadow and prove himself or some such. As if it were his fault for being born a Squib." 

"You didn't try one of those potions we came up with?" I say. 

Tom shakes his head. "I haven't been able to get the resources for them, here. Maybe they don't exist around here. Although given the... social climate of the area, I don't think I would have been doing him a favor, anyway." 

"What are you talking about?" Duncan wonders. 

Tom glances at me and hisses low in Parseltongue, "How much does he know?" 

"Everything," I hiss back. 

Tom nods, and flicks his fingers to make sure there's a privacy charm up. "My sister and I are apostate mages. Our father was, too. But Carver was born a Squib -- someone of magical blood who isn't a mage themselves. During our travels in another world, we came up with a way to activate the magic of Squibs and even grant it to Muggles -- mundane, non-magical people -- and allow them to use magic. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find substitutes for the ingredients we used in the potion, nor have I had the resources available to build a machine that could do it." 

"You state the impossible so matter-of-factly," Duncan says, chuckling. 

"Well, we hadn't thought it possible in my world, either," Tom says. "We learned about it while traveling in a world called Terrestia." 

"It sounds as though the two of you have had many adventures together," Duncan says. 

"As Lexen is fond of saying, it's a long story," Tom says with a grin. 

"You know there will be templars at Ostagar, however," Duncan says. "You will not be safe unless you were to join the Grey Wardens." 

"Hmm," Tom says. "Say, Lexen. We could swap clothes, and I could pretend to be the Circle mage instead!" 

"I'm not sure that would actually work, Tom," I say. 

Tom grunts. "Do you _want_ me to join the Grey Wardens?" he directs to Duncan. 

"There is a Blight on our doorstep," Duncan says. "In times like these, we need every Warden that we can get. The fate of the world hangs in the balance." 

"I don't care about the fate of the world," Tom says. "But I care about my mum and sis. And I care about Lexen. Is that good enough for you? I won't lie to you. Lexen's the reckless, compassionate, self-sacrificing one. As for me, well. Given the choice between the world and myself, I'd let the world burn, with very few exceptions. Is that the sort of person you really want as a Grey Warden?" 

"No, probably not," Duncan says. 

"Then don't ask me again," Tom says. "I'll kill darkspawn because they threaten Lexen and my family, not because I care what the darkspawn do." 

"Very well," Duncan says. "I suppose I can appreciate your honesty, at least." 

"If Lexen trusted you enough to tell you everything, then I won't hold my tongue, either." 

"Although I've started to wonder what I've gotten myself into when I decided to recruit him..." 


	6. Wardens and Witches

Duncan, Tom, and I approach Ostagar, the old ruined fortress towering against the wilderness. Tents and soldiers are arrayed amongst the ancient structures. 

As we approach the fort, a man in shiny gold armor comes out to greet us. "Ho, Duncan!" 

"King Cailan!" Duncan says. "I didn't expect--" 

"A royal welcome?" Cailan says, laughing. "I was starting to think that you were going to miss out on all the fun!" 

That's some awfully shiny armor the king has there. I wonder what sort of enchantments it has on it? Would he mind terribly if I were to want to try it on sometime? 

"Not if I could help it, Your Majesty," Duncan says, shifting uncomfortably. 

"Then I'll have the mighty Duncan by my side in battle after all! It shall be glorious!" 

I grin wickedly at that, eager to turn my magic on the darkspawn again. "That it will be." 

"I hate to contradict my reckless, somewhat insane friend," Tom says, "but battle is hardly _glorious_. It is bloody, messy, and hellish. You could be dying before you know what hit you, your life bleeding out on the battlefield--" 

Duncan clears his throat, and Cailan looks slightly pale. "While I have to admit that Tom has a point, I think that's enough of that." 

"Did you find a promising recruit or two at the Circle Tower, Duncan?" Cailan says, looking over the two of us. 

We'd opted to have Tom wear Circle mage robes after all. There aren't many mages here, and it's unlikely that any templars who might be here would recognize him. I'm confident in his ability to talk his way out of trouble should anyone question him. 

"Lexen here has come to join the Grey Wardens," Duncan says, gesturing me. "His friend, Tom, came along to bolster the army." 

"Excellent!" Cailan says. "More magic is always welcome." 

"Don't let the templars hear you say that," I say with a smirk. 

"Magic is very useful, especially in battle," Cailan says. "I'm sure even the templars should realize that. Rain fire and lightning down upon the wicked horde! The darkspawn will never know what hit them!" 

"I don't think this will be quite that easy," Tom says, adding as an afterthought, "Your Majesty." 

"I don't think that this is even a Blight at all!" Cailan says, throwing up his hands. "For all the darkspawn on the field, there has still been no sign of an archdemon leading them!" 

"And you're disappointed at this?" Tom says, raising an eyebrow. 

"I had hoped for a glorious battle to be sung about for years to come!" Cailan says. "The king leading the army as the darkspawn menace is finally defeated for good!" 

I put my hand on my forehead and sigh quietly. I hold my tongue, however. I can only hope that the actual army is being led by someone who _isn't_ a naive, sheltered young man. 

"Ah, but I'd best be off," Cailan says. "No doubt Loghain is waiting to bore me with his strategies. I look forward to shedding blood together with you all. Farewell." 

He turns and strides off toward the bridge across the ravine. I absently flick my fingers to put up some privacy spells as soon as he walks away. 

"Maker save us all," Tom mutters. 

"I take it that this Loghain is the _actual_ brains behind this operation?" I say dryly. 

"Do keep in mind that Cailan is the king of Ferelden," Duncan says. "It would be behoove you to show him some respect." 

"Respect?" says Mouse. "I could have wallowed in his delusional pride. But I much prefer the flavor of Lexen's more well-justified pride. Still, he left me speechless at his foolishness." 

"That's probably for the best," I comment. 

"He certainly doesn't seem to be taking any of this very seriously," Tom says. 

"I know there is an archdemon behind this, but I cannot ask him to act solely upon my feeling," Duncan says. 

"But Grey Wardens _can_ sense the darkspawn," I say. "It's not just a random hunch. Or is that supposed to be a secret, too?" 

Duncan peers about, scowling at me and sighing and lowering his voice, "It is not something we typically advertise." 

"Relax, I've got a privacy spell up," I say. "Actually a couple of them, because I don't like lipreaders, either." 

Duncan blinks. "Perhaps I should have expected that sort of paranoia from you." 

"Don't worry," Tom says. " _I'm_ certainly not going to go spilling your secrets." 

Duncan sighs and shakes his head, and turns to me. "Before you can become a full Grey Warden, you must go through the Joining ritual. It is brief, but important, and some preparation is required. And yes, this is also a secret, and I cannot tell you the details until it is time." 

"Right, of course," I say absently. 

"There are two other recruits that should have arrived here by now as well," Duncan says. "Their names are Jory and Daveth. We'll be conducting the Joining in a few days, but I'll have a mission to send you on before then." He glances meaningfully to Tom and then back to me. "Just you, and the other Grey Warden recruits." 

I give a nod. "Of course, of course." 

"But right now, I think you probably want a hot meal and a good night's sleep," Duncan says. "So I shall leave you to that. In the morning, I'd like you to seek out Alistair, the junior Warden." 

"Will do," I say. "Good night, Duncan." 

We part ways, and Tom and I head off into camp ourselves to set up my tent. I've been carrying around this wizard tent since arriving in Thedas, but haven't had a chance to use it before now. It looks like it will see some use now, however. And it has charms cast over it to make sure no random fire-breathing lizards burn it down, too. 

"Mysterious rituals?" Tom says quietly. "I'm wary of this, Lexen. Are you sure you want to go through with this?" 

"I'll never find out if I back out now," I say with a grin. "But first, I'm eager to get some rest. My body isn't used to walking this much." 

"I think I'm going to annoy the army by completely ignoring anything they want me to do," Tom says. 

I smirk. "If you were going to do that, why did you go out of your way to convince Duncan that he didn't want you in the Grey Wardens?" 

Tom chuckles and doesn't reply except to drag me into the tent. 

* * *

"I'm going to see if I can find my brother," Tom says in the morning, stretching as we emerge from our tent. "You have fun with the Grey Wardens and their secretiveness." He grins at me, gives me a casual wave, and heads off. 

I pack up the tent again and put it away, then head off to see about finding Alistair. 

Along the way, I pass by the kennels. The kennel master waves me over, saying, "Are you one of the new Wardens? I heard they'd recruited a young mage. Could you give me a hand here?" 

"Yes, I am. What do you need?" I ask. 

"One of the hounds here swallowed darkspawn blood. He's sick and scared, and I need him muzzled before I can treat him. Since Grey Wardens are immune to the taint, you can muzzle him safely." 

"Sure," I say. I take the muzzle and step into the enclosure. The dog in question is large and all black, clearly in a lot of pain. I speak to him reassuringly, "Hello, boy. It's alright. We'll get you some help. Calm down. There's no need to be scared." The dog relaxes somewhat, and I get the muzzle onto him. "There you go. You get better soon, alright?" 

"Thanks," the kennel master says as I step out. "Mabari hounds are strong and right smart, they are. You seemed to handle him well. His old master died, but maybe if he survives this, we might be able to imprint him onto you, instead." 

"Is there anything else I could do for him?" I ask. 

"If you're ever out in the wilds, look for white flowers with a red center. You can find them near dead wood at the edges of pools." 

I give a nod. "I'll be sure to do so. I'll bring you any that I find." 

I move along and explore the camp a bit more. I don't even bother asking anyone if they've seen Alistair. I just cast a silent Naming Charm at everyone I see. One man I run across pops up with the name "Daveth". That was one of the other recruits Duncan mentioned, wasn't it? He appears to be harassing one of the female soldiers at the moment, and she walks off in disgust after a moment. 

"Bothering the women, Daveth?" I ask casually. 

"You know my name?" Daveth says, looking to me in surprise. "Oh, you must be the new recruit Duncan mentioned. I wasn't bothering her! I was just trying to convince her that life is short, and we could die tomorrow, so we should enjoy it while we can." 

I smirk. "I wonder how many of the women here are the sort who are interested in other women." 

"I, er, I hadn't thought of that," Daveth says. "So it's not just me! That's reassuring. Sort of." 

"You might have better luck with the men instead," I suggest. 

"I think I'll pass on that," Daveth says, and heads off. 

I run across Jory next, and go up to greet him. "Hello, Jory." 

Jory jumps a bit in surprise. "Who are-- Oh, you're the other recruit, aren't you. I heard you were a mage, but I didn't think I'd run into you before the Joining." He shifts uneasily around me, looking at me with wide-eyed fear. Practically _cowering_ at my very presence. 

I roll my eyes. "Relax, Jory. I don't make it a habit of hurting people on my own side. That's counter-productive." 

"Well, I guess that's reassuring, I suppose." He doesn't seem particularly reassured, though. "It would be nice to have magic on our side for once. The darkspawn have terrible magic." 

"But I could crush you like an insect if I so desired," says Mouse. 

Jory practically meeps, and runs off in terror. 

I laugh lightly as I continue on. "That was unnecessary," I say. "But funny." 

Finally, up at what might be an old temple of some sort, I run across Alistair speaking with a mage. From the sounds of things, they appear to be getting along positively smashingly. From the sounds of things, Alistair is delivering a message, and the mage seems utterly intent upon being offended at him, and storms off after a few moments. 

"Touchy fellow," I comment, putting up a privacy spell out of habit. 

"You aren't another mage, are you?" Alistair says. "And here I thought I'd already been yelled at by every mage in camp." 

"What gave it away?" I say. "The pointless flowing robes, the unwieldy heavy stick, or the air of 'The natural elements bow to my command! Fear me!'?" 

Alistair laughs aloud at that. "Say, now I remember. Duncan said that his latest recruit was from the Circle of Magi. I'm Alistair, although perhaps you already guessed that. You would be Lexen, then, I presume?" 

"That would be me," I say. "A pleasure to meet you. Although perhaps the feeling isn't mutual? Do you have a problem with mages?" 

"No, I have no problem with mages," Alistair replies. "It's just that my background tends to make mages nervous." 

"Oh?" I say. "Why is that?" 

"Well, I was once a templar, you see." 

I tense at that. "I... see." 

"See what I mean?" Alistair says. "I never actually took my oaths. I was trained as a templar, but that was a decision made for me long ago. I never chose to become a templar. Duncan recruited me right out of the Chantry first. The Chantry didn't want to let me go, but he invoked the Right of Conscription." 

I relax a small amount, but I don't let my guard down entirely. "Even if you're not actually officially a templar, you can still take away my magic if you wanted to." 

"I'm not going to do that, though," Alistair says. "We're on the same side here, aren't we? We're both Grey Wardens." 

"And what if I were to do something you didn't agree with for any reason?" I say. "What then? What assurance do I have that you won't turn on me?" 

"Well, I don't really know," Alistair says. "I guess that would depend on the circumstances. You'll just have to trust me, I suppose." 

"You aren't really giving any reason to trust, you know," Mouse comments. 

"Did you say something?" Alistair asks. 

"That was my pet talking mouse," I say absently, and change the subject quickly. "Look, Alistair. We're both Grey Wardens. Which means that I'll have to trust you to make killing darkspawn the priority above all else. And I'll appreciate if _you_ would trust _me_ to do the same." 

"Of course," Alistair says. "I didn't mean-- Sorry, I didn't mean to make you nervous or anything. I've got enough nervous mages around me as it is, and nervous mages make _me_ nervous. I don't think I would make a particularly attractive toad." 

I give a nod, and back down. "Alright, how about we start over, then?" 

"Yes, it's just wonderful how a Blight brings everyone together," Alistair says dryly. 

"I assume you can brief me more on what I need to know about the Blight and the darkspawn?" I say. "I only know what I've read in some old books, and it wasn't really a particular subject of research for me. I tended to focus more on magical studies." 

"Understandably," Alistair says. "A Blight, as you might have read, is when an archdemon leads a horde of darkspawn to the surface to ravage the land." 

"And what is an archdemon, precisely?" I ask. 

"Not a demon at all, technically," Mouse says. "Demons are spirits of the Fade. Archdemons aren't." 

"Your, ah, mouse is correct," Alistair says, peering at the creature thoughtfully. "According to the Chantry, the archdemons are the Tevinter Old Gods. Whether they are or not, they _are_ dragons, tainted by darkspawn corruption." 

" _Dragons_?" I say. 

"Yes, dragons," Alistair says. 

"Awesome!" I say, beaming. 

Alistair looks at me strangely. "I don't know if that's the word I'd use to describe it." 

"Oh, before I came here, one of my friends at the tower made a bet that I'd wind up getting killed by a dragon," I say. 

"You are a very strange mage," Alistair says. 

I giggle. "You should probably be aware that I'm completely insane. I'm a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation. Expect me to either be getting myself killed stupidly, or having apparent precognition to avoid something that really should have killed me." 

"Thanks for the heads up," Alistair says. "I think. Is there anything else you'd like to know?" 

"I think I'm good for now," I say. "I've got plenty I could grill you about, but Duncan said something about having a mission for us?" 

Alistair nods. "Yes, he does. Have you met the other Grey Warden recruits? Daveth and Jory? They're probably around camp somewhere." 

"I ran across them, yes," I say. "Daveth was trying to get into a female soldier's armor, and Jory looked as though he were about to soil himself at the sight of me. Not to doubt Duncan's judgment or anything, but was this really the best that he could scrounge up?" 

"I'm sure he had good reason for it," Alistair says. "Maybe Daveth and Jory just gave a poor first impression. I'm sure they must have something going for them, or Duncan would not have recruited them." 

"Perhaps," I say, shrugging. "Let's go see what Duncan wants us to do, shall we?" 

Alistair nods, and we head along toward the bonfire in front of Duncan's tent. Daveth and Jory have already gathered there, waiting for us. 

"Hope we didn't keep you waiting," I say. 

"N--No, not at all," Jory says. 

"Boo!" Mouse says. Jory very nearly jumps on top of the tent. 

Duncan sighs. "Lexen, will you please keep your mouse under control?" 

"That was a mouse?" Jory stammers. 

"Yes, Jory," I say, pulling Mouse out of my pocket and holding him out on the palm of my hand. "See? Just a mouse." 

"A talking mouse," Daveth adds. 

"Do you have a problem with that?" Mouse asks. 

"Mages are queer folk," Daveth says, shaking his head. 

"Most of the ones I know are, yes," I say, letting Mouse scurry up and sit on my shoulder where he can see better. 

"Just a mouse," Jory repeats. "Just a mouse." He takes deep breaths, steadying himself. 

"If you can't handle a mouse, how do you have any hope of fighting darkspawn?" Daveth wonders. 

"If we are done discussing Lexen's mouse, I will explain your mission to you," Duncan says. 

"What do you want us to do?" I ask. 

"I'm sending the three of you, along with Alistair, into the Korcari Wilds," Duncan goes on. "There are two tasks that I want you to perform there. First is to collect three vials of darkspawn blood." 

"I'd think there's plenty of _that_ available around here," I say. 

"More importantly, it's an opportunity to get you used to fighting darkspawn and working together," Duncan says. "The second task is to find an old Grey Warden outpost in the wilds. It has recently come to my attention that some scrolls were left behind there. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls and bring them to me." 

"What sort of scrolls?" I wonder. 

"Old treaties, promises of support for the Grey Wardens," Duncan says. "Once merely a formality, long ago, as in times gone by, no one would have refused aid to the Grey Wardens during a Blight." 

"But now things have changed, and we may need their support, and a reminder of their obligations?" I say. 

"Precisely," Duncan says with a nod. "May the Maker guide your steps. I will be here when you return." 

The four of us head out the gates of Ostagar and into the wilds. As we go, I give a closer inspection to the equipment being used by my companions. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jory says, voice quavering. 

"I'm just looking at what you're using," I say. "Hmm. I don't see any runes or anything on your armor or weapons..." 

"No, it's not enchanted," Jory replies. 

"Not magical at all?" I say incredulously, and glance to the others. " _None_ of you have magical weapons or armor?" 

"If I could have afforded that sort of luxury, I wouldn't have wound up where I am now," Daveth says. 

I sigh and put my face in my hands. "Alright, then. We'll have to keep an eye out for some better equipment." 

"There is nothing wrong with what I'm wearing!" Jory protests. "This is finely made armor!" 

"It's plain iron, completely nonmagical," I say. "If you're going to _refuse_ me buying you or finding you new weapons and armor, I'm not going to complain, but I'd rather you didn't get me killed because you thought yourself too good to use magic items. I'm afraid I'm not carrying around a small armory in my pocket, or I'd give you something right now." 

I'm definitely going to need to get into the habit of being a packrat again. It wasn't necessary back in the tower, but now that I'm out adventuring, collecting a small armory could prove very useful. 

"I, for one, am certainly not going to complain if you want to give me anything," Daveth says. 

I chuckle. "Alright, here's how this will work. Alistair, Jory, you get the attention of any enemies we encounter. Daveth, hold back and shoot at them with your bow." Daveth nods. "I'll rain lightning down on them. Try to avoid getting hurt, but I'll heal any injuries you get." 

"Who put you in charge, anyway?" Jory says. 

"Do you have a problem with Lexen's suggestions?" Alistair asks. 

"He's no more experienced than we are!" Jory says, looking to Alistair. "Weren't you supposed to be leading this mission?" 

"Lexen seems to know what he's doing," Alistair says. "I'm perfectly fine with following his lead." 

Jory grumbles a little, but drops the subject and we move on into the wilds. 

"Alright, Mouse, we're going to be fighting, so back into the pocket you go," I say, gently picking up the rodent and dropping him back into the warded pocket. 

The first creatures we encounter are not darkspawn, however, but a pack of crazed wolves. Why are they even attacking us? The Blight must be infecting the wildlife. We put them out of their misery quickly with blades, arrows, and lightning. 

"What's wrong with them?" I ask, bending down to one of the corpses. 

"The darkspawn don't just pillage and slaughter," Alistair explains. "Their taint spreads across the land, killing everything in its path and driving things mad along the way." 

"Maker..." Jory murmurs. "I have a wife up in Highever. I would hate for this to spread that far." 

"Well, if we do our jobs, then your pretty wife might never have to see things get this bad," Daveth says. 

A little further on, we come upon some bodies, human. One of them is moving, however. A wounded man, desperately crawling toward the camp. I rush up toward him and pour healing magic into him. 

"Oh, thank the Maker!" the man says, clambering to his feet. 

"Don't thank the _Maker_ ," Mouse says. "Thank the mage who just saved your hide." 

The soldier doesn't seem to notice it wasn't a human who spoke. "Yes, of course. Many thanks to you, friend. Grey Wardens? I'm glad you found me. My entire patrol was wiped out. The darkspawn came out of nowhere, and surrounded us. I barely escaped with my life." 

"Camp isn't far off," I say. "You can make it back, report in and rest." 

"Yes, Warden. Maker watch over you." The soldier hurries back toward Ostagar. 

"An entire company of seasoned men, wiped out by darkspawn?" Jory says, voice shaking. "What chance do the four of us have against the horde?" 

Alistair sighs. "Yes, while there are darkspawn out here, we are in no danger of walking into the bulk of the horde. Grey Wardens are capable of sensing darkspawn. That's why I'm here." 

"You see, ser knight?" Daveth says. "You can relax. We might still get horribly killed, but at least we'll have warning first." 

"I'm not sure that I'm reassured," Jory says hesitantly. 

I roll my eyes. "I'm a mage, as you recall. I can take out a small army by myself. And if there's really no other option, I'll get their attention and kill as many of them as I can to give the rest of you a chance to escape." 

"That shouldn't be necessary," Alistair says. 

"He told you he's insane," Mouse comments. "Did you think he was exaggerating?" 

We move on. Further down the trail, Alistair says, "There. Darkspawn ahead, half a dozen of them." 

It looks like a group of the smaller ones, genlocks, led by a single human-sized hurlock. I'd still rather just think of them as goblins and orcs. I raise my hands and point my staff toward them, sweeping them down with a blast of lightning even as they try to charge toward us. 

"Those were darkspawn?" Jory says. 

"If you're about to soil yourself, let me know so I can get a Cleansing Charm ready," I comment. 

Alistair goes over to collect some blood into vials. "That should do it for the blood," he says. "Now to just find the old outpost." 

We make our way through the Korcari Wilds, trudging through mud and tainted lands, occasionally dispatching small knots of darkspawn. Along the way, I pick up a few of those flowers the kennel master wanted, as well as raiding some old Chasind supply caches for junk. Any Chasind barbarians that might have been in the area, however, have already been killed or fled the vicinity before the darkspawn horde. 

Then, deep within the wilds, we come upon a crumbling ruin. There's not much left of it, and the wilderness would likely swallow the remainder of it soon enough even if the Blight weren't about to consume the area. There's a chest within it that looks as though it fell apart ages ago. 

"I really hope that isn't what we're looking for," I comment as I head into the ruin to look around. 

"Well, well, what have we here?" says a woman's voice from nearby. 

I jump in surprise, instinctively dropping into combat mode and lightning crackling at my fingertips as I turn to look. A human woman strides casually down the crumbling ramp. A half-naked human woman, I should say. Her outfit only seems to make a half-hearted attempt at concealing anything. 

"Don't be so alarmed," the woman says. "I did not come here to fight you. I am merely curious. Tell me, what is your business in my wilds?" 

I relax a little, letting the lightning fade. "Our business is our own." 

"Don't answer her," Alistair says quietly. "She looks Chasind. There might be others nearby." 

"Oh, do you fear that barbarians are going to swoop down upon you?" the woman says. 

"Yes," Alistair says dryly. "Swooping is bad." 

I snort softly. "I'm not scared of any barbarians anymore than I am of the darkspawn." 

"She's a Witch of the Wilds!" Daveth says. 

"A witch?" I say. "I thought women who used magic were just called mages around here, too. Anyway, witch or no, I could as well ask you what _your_ business is." 

The witch laughs. "This is my home, of course, and I have been watching you for some time, wondering where you are going and what you are doing here. And here you come and disturb these old ruins like vultures picking at long-dry bones. But you seem to be the sensible one of this group. Tell me your name and I shall tell you mine." 

"I am Lexen Chelseer." 

"Then you may call me Morrigan." 

"So, _are_ you a witch?" I ask. 

Morrigan chuckles. "Such idle fancies, those legends. What do _you_ think?" 

"I think you must be freezing in that outfit," I say. "I really don't think that's any sort of standard witch gear I've ever seen." 

Morrigan flushes. "I will wear what I choose." 

"Oh, of course," I say, waving a hand absently. "I admire your willingness to balk social conventions, and your apparent mastery of Warming Charms." 

"Warming Charms?" Jory says. "You wouldn't happen to have any of those yourself, would you?" 

"Why didn't you say so sooner?" I say, absently flicking my fingers at him and thinking _Thermos_. "Better?" 

"Much obliged, ser mage," Jory says. 

"I would guess that you have come here seeking something that was in that chest," Morrigan says. "Something that is no longer here?" 

"So it would seem," I reply. "You seem to know something about that. What can you tell us?" 

"My mother took them," Morrigan says. 

"I see," I say. "Does she still have them? Can you take us to her?" 

"Indeed so," Morrigan says. "Follow me, then, if you wish." 

The half-naked witch leads us off through the forest. At least Jory has stopped grumbling for the moment. After a fair bit of walking, we arrive at a small hut in the middle of nowhere, and an old woman comes out to greet us. 

"Mother, I have brought these Grey Wardens," Morrigan says. 

"So I see," the old woman replies. "Hmm. Much as I might have expected." She pauses to look at me. "Or is it?" 

"I daresay you probably did not expect me," I say. 

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Who is to say what I expected? Certainly not me!" She laughs. 

"She's a Witch of the Wilds!" Daveth stage whispers. "We shouldn't even be talking to her!" 

"Will you be quiet?" Jory says. "Whatever she is, witch or mage or apostate or whatever, we won't want to anger her. And if she's neither, Lexen obviously wants to talk to her, and I'd rather not anger _him_." 

"And here I was thinking he didn't have any sense," Mouse comments. 

"I'm told that you have something that we're looking for," I say. 

"The protections on your treaties wore off long ago," the old woman says, handing some scrolls to me. "Take them to your Grey Wardens and tell them that the threat of this Blight is greater than they realize." 

"So, a seer, are you?" I say. 

"Am I?" the old witch says. "Call me what you will. Much about you is uncertain, and yet, I believe you may be the hope for this world." 

I sigh. "Or I could go out and get my head chopped off by a darkspawn tomorrow." 

"Perhaps," the witch says, throwing back her head and laughing. "What do _you_ believe?" 

"I believe that what I believe isn't really relevant," I say. "I don't pretend to know everything that's going on in this world, and I certainly don't know enough to make a judgment. But maybe I will be the hope for a world almost, but not quite, exactly like this one." 

"The two of you both stopped making sense a little bit ago," Alistair says. 

"Understanding is rarely an easy thing," the old witch says. "How can two people see things from the same point of view, when they arrived at the same location, from different directions?" She laughs again. 

"It's getting late, and it's a fair ways back to camp," I say. "Do you mind if we stay here for tonight?" 

"Not at all," the old woman says. "It has been some while since I had guests." 

"I've got a tent," I say. "I can just put it up outside." 

I pull out my tent and erect it a short ways away from Flemeth's hut, and step inside. I totally splurged on the best tent galleons could buy back in Wizarding Earth, and it's times like this that I'm glad for it. 

"Andraste's tits!" Daveth utters, coming in behind me. "This ain't no tent. This is a mansion!" 

I chuckle. "The finest in magical tents. You won't find its like anywhere else in Thedas." 

"I would imagine not," Alistair says, wide-eyed. "Where did you _get_ this?" 

"It was definitely _not_ from the Tevinter Imperium," I say. 

"That's a suspiciously specific denial," Alistair says. 

"Indeed," I say. 


	7. Joining

I wake in my room in the wizard tent, and lazily crawl out of bed to get some breakfast. It's first thing in the morning, and the others come trickling in one by one after me. 

"Daveth," I say. "You look like you hardly slept. Does being around these witches bother you so much?" 

Daveth nods. "I'll be glad to get away from here." 

I feed some bits of my breakfast to Mouse, as much to see Jory squirm as to keep him happy. Once we finish eating, we head out of the tent, pack it up, and make out way back toward Ostagar. There's still darkspawn swarming in the wilds, and we have to fight a few more groups of them on the way, but we make it back soon enough without too much trouble. 

"You've returned," Duncan says, turning away from the bonfire to look at us. "Were you successful?" 

"We have been," I say, passing over the scrolls, and Alistair hands him the vials of blood. 

"Good," Duncan says. "The Circle Mages have been making the necessary preparations for us. With this blood, we can complete our preparations and begin the Joining tonight." 

We part ways for the moment, and I stop at the kennels to give the flowers I'd collected to the kennel master. 

"Ah, good!" he says. "The dogs should have a much better chance, with this. Here's a bit of compensation for your time and effort." 

I pocket the coins he offers, nodding to him in thanks, and move on to see if I can find Tom. He winds up finding me, however, and comes up and hugs me. 

"How was the mission?" Tom asks. "Did you kill lots of darkspawn?" 

"A fair few of them," I say, grinning at him. "The Joining will be tonight." 

"Got a bit of time to kill, then," Tom says, grinning back. "Shall we do some catching up?" 

I chuckle. "Wouldn't miss it." 

His idea of 'catching up' at the moment, is exchanging information, and not the more fun variety. Well, knowledge is fun, too. We've both learned a fair bit about magic and the world around us, just from different angles, and between us we manage to fill in some gaps in our knowledge. 

Night falls, and I part ways with Tom and make my way to the old temple, where the Joining will be taking place at the hour of midnight. I find myself nervous again, despite myself. 

"Care to tell us what this is supposed to be about, now?" I ask. 

"I'm not going to lie about this," Duncan says. "We Grey Wardens pay a heavy price in order to be what we are. The Joining is dangerous." 

"You mean it can kill us?" Jory says, wide-eyed. 

"These are the sacrifices that we must make in order to keep the world safe from the threat of the darkspawn," Duncan says. 

"Why so secretive about it?" I wonder. 

"Not all are quite so eager to risk their lives, nor understand that need for sacrifice." 

"So you keep this all a secret, and sometimes even force people into this, and yet it can kill them?" I say. 

"I've heard enough from the brave knight," Daveth says. "Don't tell me _you_ are blubbering now, too?" 

"No," I say, shaking my head. "Just... forget it. Let's be done with this." 

Duncan brings out a large chalice and sets it on the table before us. "Long ago, during the First Blight, the world stood on the brink of annihilation. It was then that the first Grey Wardens drank of darkspawn blood in order to gain the power to destroy them." 

"Blood magic?" I say in surprise. 

"For a good cause," Duncan says. 

" _That's_ why you can sense the darkspawn," I say. 

"Indeed," Duncan says. "This is the source of our power, and our victory. Grey Wardens can fight darkspawn without fear of being infected by their taint." 

"We're going to drink the blood of those _things_?" Jory says. "And we could die doing it? But I have a wife, a child on the way! If you had warned me--" 

I snap, "You volunteered for this, didn't you? If he'd warned you _what_ , exactly? That you could die? It's a war, Jory! You could take an arrow to the throat tomorrow, and this wouldn't have made a difference!" 

"I cannot face this enemy with my blade, though," Jory says in a small voice. 

"Not every enemy can be defeated with blades," I say. "Some you must fight with words, and some with will." 

"I don't know about fighting with words or will," Jory says quietly. 

"Then take heart in the fact that you can defeat most darkspawn by hitting them repeatedly," I say. 

"Are we all ready for this?" Duncan asks. We all nod, some more nervously than others. "Then let us begin. We speak only a few words before the Joining, but these words have been spoken since the first. Alistair, if you would?" 

"Join us, brothers and sisters," Alistair says. "Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you." 

"Daveth, step forward," Duncan says, holding out the cup to him. 

Daveth takes a sip from the chalice. Almost immediately, he collapses to the ground, writhing and choking in pain. 

"I am sorry, Daveth," Duncan says quietly. He turns to Jory. "Jory, step forward." 

"No," Jory murmurs, then says more loudly, "No, you cannot ask this of me!" 

"There is no turning back," Duncan says, taking a step toward him. 

Jory staggers back away from Duncan, retreating backwards a few steps as though he were some sort of monster. He pulls out his sword. "No! I won't die like that!" 

"Jory, stand down!" I say in my most commanding voice. 

Duncan draws one of his own blades to meet Jory's trembling sword. Before I can do anything else, Duncan slips his long dagger beneath Jory's ribs. Jory collapses into a pool of blood. 

"Duncan!" I say. "I can't believe you just did that!" 

"When he drew his sword, he gave me no choice." 

" _There are always choices!_ " I growl. I can't help but run through my mind everything else that _could have_ been done instead. 

Duncan does not seem deterred. "The Joining is not yet complete. Lexen, step forward." 

Glancing at the bodies of Daveth and Jory, I wonder just what I've gotten myself into. I sigh and step forth, nonetheless, and take the chalice. I drink down the foul concoction, sliding down my throat like slime. 

Pain. Burning agony courses through my veins. I collapse to the ground, and my vision fills with strange images. An enormous dragon, all purplish-black and covered in spikes. Its presense fills my mind. Looking at me. Calling to me. Its will presses down against me, and I fight, struggling to shake it off. I can shake off the Imperius Curse, but _this_ seems like it's already inside of me. No! I will not lose to this... 

...beautiful... 

...magnificent... 

...dragon. 

* * *

I wake with a gasp. I blink up at the ceiling. I'm in my room in the wizard tent. What happened? Did I fail the Joining, too? 

I spend a few moments washing my face, and drink down a Wideye Potion to wash away the at least some of the weariness in my mind, before heading out to the dining area. 

It looks like the others are already awake, and the sun is high in the sky. Mouse is missing as well, no doubt poking his whiskers into something. I don't know. But since it seems that we _are_ still out in the wilds, it appears that I did fail the Joining after all. 

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up," Alistair says, poking his head into the dining area. "I tried to knock on your door to rouse you, but you never responded and the door was locked." 

"A good thing, too," I say. "I keep my sleeping area locked and warded for a reason. If you'd actually tried to rouse me, I might have killed you by mistake before I realized you weren't an enemy." 

Alistair blinks at me. "Was life in the Circle Tower really so rough?" 

I shrug. "I'm not in the Circle Tower now. I'm in the middle of a war zone." I grunt. "And I probably slept so long because of all the magic I used yesterday. I'm not used to using so much magic continuously." 

"Will you be alright?" 

"I'm fine," I lie, finishing off my breakfast. Or lunch, as the case may be. "Let's pack up and get going. We should still make it back to camp before dark, since we won't have to do so much wandering around searching on the way back." 

We leave the tent and pack it up again. 

"I went off to speak with the Witch of the Wilds when you didn't wake up," Mouse says, settling back into his carry pocket in my robes. 

"I'm eager to get away from here," Daveth says. "These witches make me nervous." 

_I am sorry, Daveth_. 

No, I can save him this time. I don't know if I can save myself, but at least I can prevent their deaths. Duncan's got to listen to me. 

"Let's go," I say with some determination, setting off across the Korcari Wilds. 

As we travel through the chilly forest, I suddenly feel a strange sensation, like a tugging within my chest, within my heart, within my _soul_. 

"Darkspawn ahead," Alistair says. "Just three of them, I think." 

I'm too distracted and worried about the implications of this to even help the others fight this small group of darkspawn, not that they particularly need my help with so few. I stagger, putting my hands on my knees, and look at the ground dizzily. The Joining killed me, and yet, it succeeded anyway? How is this possible? What did they _do_? 

"Lexen, are you alright?" Alistair asks once the darkspawn are defeated. 

"No," I say. "Let's hurry back to Ostagar." 

"Alright," Alistair says. 

I try to focus, and we fight our way past a few more groups of darkspawn before getting back to camp. I pass off the scrolls to Alistair to give to Duncan and don't even go to see him right now. I drop the flowers at the kennel master and leave without payment. I hardly even notice Mouse wiggling out of my pocket and dropping out to explore the camp. I head straight for Tom's worried, frowning face. I grab him and drag him off into an unoccupied corner and throw up as many spells to ensure our privacy as I can quickly. 

"What happened, love?" Tom asks. 

"I failed the Joining," I say. "It killed me. And yet it worked." 

Tom frowns. "What sort of ritual was it?" 

"We had to drink specially prepared darkspawn blood," I say. "I don't know what all went into it. One of the other recruits died immediately. The other panicked and attacked Duncan with his sword. And then I..." 

Tom scowls. "And then what?" 

"I saw visions," I say. "The archdemon was in my mind." I shudder at the memory of the visions, the horrible, painful nightmares that I had. "Then I woke up this morning and could... I could sense darkspawn. Fuck. I can _sense the fucking darkspawn_ , and I haven't been through the Joining in this timeline!" 

"That's... not good," Tom says. "Not good at all. I was afraid that this would be a bad idea." 

"Well, you were right," I say with a sigh. "The question is, what do we do _now_?" 

"I don't know." Tom rubs his head. "Push forward and see what happens. Contact Gellert, and we can try to research this as much as we can." 

I give a nod. "Alright. Alright. You see about having a chat with Gellert, then. I need to talk to Duncan." 

"Will do," Tom says. "We'll figure this out. One way or another." 

I head back out to Duncan's tent. My hands are trembling. "Duncan? Are you in there?" 

"Lexen? Come on in," Duncan's voice says from inside. 

I slip into the tent. Duncan is inside, looking over the scrolls that we brought him. I quickly put up another batch of privacy spells. 

"Is there a problem, Lexen?" 

"I... shit, yes there is," I say with a sigh, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him. "Remember when I told you about my time travel abilities?" 

"You... go back in time when you die, you said?" Duncan says. 

I nod. "This is my second time through today." 

"What happened?" 

"The... the Joining," I whisper. "First Daveth drank from the cup, and he died on the spot. And Jory, well, he just freaked out at that and attacked you with his sword, and you killed him. And then it was my turn. And I saw-- I saw the archdemon. In my mind. And then... the next thing I knew, I woke up in my tent out in the wilds again." 

Duncan frowns, and sets aside the scrolls. "This is a highly unusual situation. I confess that I did not anticipate having to deal with someone who has been through the Joining, and yet has not." 

I snort softly and nod. "Is there any way you can get Daveth out of it, at least? I don't know if Jory would have survived or not, but there's no sense in needlessly killing Daveth." 

"Normally, we don't allow recruits to back out at this stage," Duncan says. "Especially not after having been conscripted. However, under the circumstances, I think an exception might be made in Daveth's case." 

"Thank you," I murmur. "Jory can have his chance, then. And me..." I sigh. "I don't know what might happen. But what's done is done, and I can try it again, if you like. Yet, I can already sense the darkspawn..." 

Duncan looks at me in some surprise. "You can? I cannot sense _you_ , however." 

"I suppose it makes as much sense as anything else that whatever that ritual does only went halfway," I say. "I have _no_ idea what sort of effect that might have." 

"Nor I," Duncan says. "This sort of situation is unprecedented." 

I can guess, however. I can guess that something has affected my soul, but not my body. I don't know what difference that might make. But I can guess that I won't be fully a Grey Warden unless I can actually succeed in the Joining. 

" _I'm_ not going to back out now," I say. 

Duncan nods. "I must go speak with Daveth, then." 

I exit the tent and return to where I left Tom. A silvery snake zips off as I approach. 

"Gellert's going to use the resources in the Circle Tower to do what research he can," Tom says. "What are you going to do?" 

"I'm going to take the Joining again." 

"I'd ask if you're insane, but I believe we've already established that," Tom says. "But why?" 

"It only seems to have gone halfway," I say. "I don't know. But I can't be a Grey Warden unless I survive this ritual." 

"Did Duncan tell you that?" Tom asks. 

"No," I say. "He'd probably let it go if I asked. He was willing to make an exception for Daveth, after all." 

"We don't know what a second time will do, though," Tom says. 

"Maybe nothing," I say. "I don't know. I'm going to take a nap first, though." 

Tom nods. "Do what you will, then, if you're so determined to become a Grey Warden. We'll figure out a way to fix it later, if need be." 

I go off to take a nap for a few hours until the Joining, but it's not in the least bit restful. I feel the archdemon in my mind, encroaching upon my dreams with visions of destruction and darkness. It's with gratitude that I wake that evening, and with a sigh that I head to the old temple for the Joining. 

"Where's Daveth?" Alistair asks as the rest of us arrive. 

"He will not be joining us tonight," Duncan says. 

"Is he not going through the ritual?" Alistair asks. 

"No," Duncan says. "The circumstances changed, and I sent him off with the main army instead." 

I stand by as they go through the ceremony, trying to stay calm myself. Jory starts to panic again. I have to wonder if he's going to attack Duncan even without having seen Daveth die in front of him. 

"Jory," I say firmly. "Duncan would not have chosen you if he did not think you could do it. And maybe you can, maybe you can't. I don't know. That's your choice. But do you want to choose to die here tonight without even taking that chance?" 

"I--" Jory stammers. 

"Choose, Jory. How do you want to die?" 

"I'd rather not die at all!" Jory protests. 

"You're going to die, sooner or later," I say. "Do you think yourself immortal? How do you want to die?" 

"Old, in bed, with my grandchildren around me," Jory says. 

"Then you shouldn't have agreed to become a Grey Warden," I say. "Now, say you have to die within the year. _How do you want to die_?" 

Jory takes a deep breath. "Fighting darkspawn, keeping my wife safe from harm." 

"Hold that thought to your heart, then," I say. "And take the cup." 

Jory finally nods, and takes the cup, and drinks from it. After a moment, he collapses, and falls unconscious, but it doesn't look as bad as it had been with Daveth. 

"Is he...?" I say. 

"He will live," Duncan says. "He will wake in time." 

"Good," I say, nodding and stepping forward to take the cup myself. "I have no idea what this will do... but here goes nothing." 

I drink the disgusting liquid. It burns going down, and seems to set my veins on fire. I fall to the ground in agony. The black, corrupted dragon, forcing its way into my mind. No, not 'it. _Her_ way. How do I know the dragon is female? I don't understand. But she is mighty. She is powerful. She wants to be followed. She wants to be _worshipped_. 

No, no, no! I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood! I will not fall to the will of a dragon like this! No matter how beautiful she is... 

* * *

I wake in a cold sweat back in my tent. I failed again, didn't I. My head is spinning. This is not good. I'm shaking. Still tired. I don't even want to get up. 

Tom comes into the room, the only one I'd keyed the wards to allow in. "Lexen?" 

"Happened again," I say. 

"Maybe you should avoid it, then," Tom says. "Tell Duncan and back out." 

I shake my head. "No. One more. One more try. I think I can manage it. Just one more try." 

"Alright. But if that fails, I'm going to intervene and stop this, no matter how much you want to be a Grey Warden. No arguments." 

As I head out of the tent, Mouse scurries up to me and climbs up onto my shoulder. I quickly put up a privacy charm in case he says something incriminating, or at least disturbing to passersby. 

"How many times are you going to let this stupid ritual kill you?" Mouse says. 

"I'm not _letting_ it kill me," I reply. 

"Could have fooled me," Mouse says. "Come on. You're immortal and very likely the most powerful mage alive in this world!" 

"No, I'd give that title to Gellert or Tom," I say. 

"Let's call it 'one of the most powerful' and not argue about it," Mouse says. "Point is, you're great! What's the problem?" 

"The archdemon's will in my mind," I say. 

"It's not even a real demon," Mouse says. "It's just a dragon." 

" _Just_ a dragon, you say." 

"Have you ever faced a dragon before?" Mouse asks. 

"I've _mind controlled_ a dragon before!" 

"Then why are you having such trouble with this?" 

I rub my forehead. "That was different." 

"What's different about it?" 

"I was the one in control then," I say. 

"Of course you were." Mouse digs his tiny claws into my shoulder. "And you should be the one in control _now_. Don't let that dragon get the better of you! You're the greatest! You can do anything you put your mind to!" 

"You're right," I say. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it," Mouse says. "I'm just here to stoke your pride." 

I laugh lightly, and step into the old temple, letting down the privacy spell as I go and feeling much better about my prospects. 

Mouse hops down onto the table with the chalice while Duncan is giving his spiel again. Jory is giving the table a look of terror, although whether that's more over the cup or the mouse is anyone's guess. Whichever it is, he's starting to panic again. I sigh and put my face in my hands. I'm getting really tired of giving him pep talks just to keep him from doing something stupid, and often failing at that anyway. 

"Jory," I snap. "Enough." 

"Jory, step forward," Duncan says. 

"No, no..." Jory says. "I can't do this..." He draws his sword. 

"Duncan," I say, getting between him and Jory. "Let me handle this." 

"Very well," Duncan says, taking a step back and putting the chalice aside. 

"You can't ask this of me!" Jory says. 

"I've hardly heard a word out of you that wasn't complaining about something or other!" I say. "What kind of a brave knight _are_ you? You're pathetic! You know what? I could tell you right now that you will absolutely, without a doubt, survive the Joining. You have more will in you than you think you do, and you're not just quietly, meekly going along to what you believe to be your death." 

"W--What?" Jory stammers. 

"I'm fucking embarrassed that a sniveling dishrag like you was able to do what I could not," I growl. 

"How dare you?" 

"But enough. I'm not going to waste anymore energy arguing about it. I'm not going to waste anymore effort on the likes of you. You're going to die tonight, Jory. Choose your death. Shall it be me? Duncan? The cup? Or would you rather just jump off the cliff and dash your head on the rocks instead?" 

"I won't let you kill me!" Jory thrusts out his blade in front of me, but his nonmagical weapon smacks against my shield spells harmlessly. 

"You can't stop me, though," I say. "Jory, the minute you attacked me, you chose to make yourself my enemy." 

I lift my hands, and send a burst of lightning coursing through Jory. He falls to the ground, dead. I turn around and calmly walk back over to the others. Alistair is looking at me, somewhat stunned. 

"It's my turn," I say. 

"Step forward, Lexen," Duncan says, handing me the cup. If he's unnerved at all by the exchange between Jory and I, he does not show it. 

I take the cup in hand and drink down the vile blood, and Duncan takes it back and sets it down on the table again. My head spins, and I fall to the ground in burning agony for a third time. The archdemon presses into my mind in full force. 

But I will not fail. _I will not fail_ this time. I am the Stormseeker! Lord of dragons, lord of regret... If I must wrestle with dragons in my own mind, then so be it, _I will win_! My mind is my own, and I will not bend to the will of anyone or anything! I am in control of myself! 

And then, as quickly as it came, the dragon seems to turn her attention elsewhere. The pressure on my mind eases up, and I wake with a deep, icy breath of night air, staring up at the starry sky at the old temple in Ostagar. 

"You survived," Duncan says. "Congratulations, Lexen. From this day forth, you are a Grey Warden." 


	8. Slumming in Ostagar

After the Joining ritual, I stumble back to my tent and slump down into a chair in the dining area. I'm exhausted, physically, mentally, and magically, but I don't think I can sleep yet. I want to put off the return of the nightmares for at least a little while longer. Mouse climbs out onto the table. 

"I take it by the fact that you're back here that you survived this time," Tom says, coming up behind me and putting his arms around me. "I worry about you, you know." 

"I'm sorry," I murmur. 

"Don't be," Tom says. 

"Pity you missed the ritual," Mouse says. "It was great! Lexen verbally bitchslapped the whiny knight and then electrocuted him!" 

"I was really getting tired of him," I say weakly, laughing a little. 

Tom grins broadly and says, "Let's get you something to eat." He goes to bring out some food from his bag and sets about to prepare a late dinner. 

"I have a feeling I'm going to be having nightmares, though," I say. "Darkspawn dreams, that damned archdemon in my head..." 

"I think I have some Dreamless Sleep potions in here," Tom says. "I could probably whip up some more." 

"I don't want to start relying on them." 

"At least they're not Dream Sweets." 

I shake my head. "I think I'll just deal with it myself, honestly." 

"Are you sure?" 

I nod. "This was my choice, after all. It's not like I'm stuck somewhere surrounded by Dementors. Besides, if I have a connection to the archdemon, maybe I can even use it to get information about what the darkspawn horde is doing." 

"Or more likely, it'll just slowly drive you mad," Tom says with a smirk. 

"Or that," I say, shrugging. "I'm sure I'll be fine, though." 

"Still, I hope Gellert can find something in the Circle Tower that might help." 

"I have my doubts about that," I say. 

"Perhaps," Tom says. "But combine that with the knowledge from other worlds, and we might be able to accomplish what they believe to be impossible here. I'm not about to give up hope on that." 

"Right now, I just want to focus on stopping this Blight," I say. "And damn, it _is_ a fucking Blight. Duncan knows, and the king doesn't believe him, and he can't just say 'I totally know because there's a fucking archdemon _in my head_ ' because then he'd have to admit that the Grey Wardens use some fucked up blood magic soul ritual..." 

"Eat," Tom says, putting a bowl of thick soup down in front of me. "You need your strength. You look like you're half dead as it is." 

I nod weakly and go to eat the offered food gratefully. At least it helps to get the lingering taste of darkspawn blood out of my mouth, and as tired and sick as I feel, I'm also ravenous. 

"Let me know if you want seconds," Tom says with a smirk as I inhale the soup. 

"It's weird seeing you cook," I say. 

Tom shrugs. "Well, we seem to have misplaced our house-elf." 

I snicker in amusement. "Like you could convince Rispy to cook even on a good day. Seconds, please." 

Tom grins and scoops up another bowl full of soup for me. "So, are we going to be saving this world, too? Or just wind up teaming up with the darkspawn randomly at the last minute?" 

"Ugh, don't even joke about that." 

"Sorry," Tom says. "The darkspawn that bad?" 

"The archdemon is a beautiful female dragon." 

"Ah," Tom says. "Should I be jealous?" 

"No," I say firmly. "Just... You know, the wars we fought in other worlds were intelligent beings fighting one another. The darkspawn are different. They're... they're monsters. They can't be reasoned with." 

"Do you know this, or is this merely what Grey Warden propaganda says?" Tom asks. 

"I can sense them," I say. "I could _feel_ the archdemon's mind. There wasn't any real intelligence there. Just animal instinct. If she was ever sentient, she isn't now. She leads the horde with force of will, not any true strategy." 

Tom nods. "I see. It would be easier to stop the darkspawn if they could be negotiated with, although more complicated." 

"To stop the Blight, the archdemon will need to be destroyed, I think," I say, snorting. "Easier said than done." 

"Relax," Tom says. "It's not like we need to do this all by ourselves. We've got the Grey Wardens and an entire army on our side." 

"You're right," I say. "Let's just focus for the moment on killing as many darkspawn as we can." 

"I can get behind that." 

* * *

Nightmares tear at my sleeping mind, and yet somehow, I manage to get some rest in there. Perhaps I'm just that tired. But maybe I don't really mind it that much. The nightmares are dreams of the world I'm currently in, as it is right now, after all. They aren't horrible memories of things long past. They aren't the tortured screams of my little cousins. 

After breakfast, I pocket Mouse and head out of my tent with Tom. 

"I'm off to go meet up with the army division I've been assigned to," Tom says. "See how big of idiots I'm going to need to deal with." 

"They haven't realized you're not even supposed to be here?" I ask. 

Tom shrugs. "The Circle Mages found me out pretty quick, actually. I told them I'm from Kirkwall, however. Which is almost true -- my mum is from there, and my dad _ran away_ from their Circle. The enchanters didn't question it further, though." 

"Better be careful," I say. "If they try to get confirmation and realize you're an apostate--" 

Tom laughs softly. "Relax. What are they going to do? Make me _actually_ join the Circle? They won't lock me up in a tower on the brink of battle." 

I smirk. "The templars don't always do what's sensible. Have you noticed how few mages they even allowed to come here?" 

"True," Tom says. "How many mages are in the tower, anyway?" 

"Enough that if they'd let all of them come, we'd have this Blight in the bag, easy," I say. "Instead, we get a handful of real mages and more Muggles than you can shake a staff at." 

We part ways, and I head off through the camp. As I'm walking, I come across a spot where several cages are hanging. One of them appears to be occupied by a filthy, miserable-looking prisoner. A guard stands a few feet away, looking away from the cages. 

"What's he in for?" I absently ask the guard. "Did he kill somebody or something?" 

"Nah, nothing so dramatic," the guard replies. "Just deserting. They'll get around to hanging him sooner or later. Until then, I get to waste my time guarding him. Wish someone would come along and sentence him already so I can do something more useful." 

"Deserting?" I say, frowning a bit and wondering what he means. 

"Aye. The king conscripted him to fight the darkspawn, and here he thinks he can shirk his duty and run away while the rest of us fight to protect the kingdom? Coward." 

There's something that really bothers me about that statement. I step up toward the prisoner and obligatorily put up a privacy spell. 

"I don't suppose you've come to sentence me?" the prisoner says. 

"I have as much right to do so as anyone else here," I say. "Tell me, in your own words, what your crime was." 

"I'm a deserter," says the prisoner. "Or at least, they think I am." 

"And why do they think that?" I ask. 

"Well, when they catch you sneaking around camp at night, what are they supposed to think?" 

"That you had to take a piss in the middle of the night?" I reply. "That you couldn't sleep and wanted to get some air? That you wanted to peep at the king's smallclothes?" 

The prisoner snickers. "If only." 

"What were you really doing, then?" I ask. "I can't imagine wandering around at night is exactly a crime in and of itself." 

"I'm not a deserter," the prisoner insists. "Well, not yet, anyway. I probably would have deserted, sooner or later. It's not like I wanted to be a soldier. No, I wasn't deserting, I was stealing. Not that that's going to help my case any." 

"Stealing?" I say, rubbing my forehead. "You know what? I really don't care." 

"So, are you going to sentence me, then?" 

"No one deserves to be imprisoned like this," I say. "Especially for something like not wanting to fight. What hope have we of victory if we have to force people to fight, and cannot find those who are _willing_ to risk their lives to protect their country?" 

The prisoner blinks at me in surprise. "What... What are you going to do, then?" 

I flick my fingers at him and think, _Scougify_. The filth covering him immediately vanishes, making him much cleaner now. "I'm going to take your freedom back." I slam magic into his cage, and it opens with a clatter. 

"Oy, what are you doing?" the guard says, turning around. "Grey Warden or no, you can't do that!" 

I dismiss my privacy spell with a wave. "Can and did." I turn to the prisoner and say, "Come on." The man climbs out of the cage weakly, and I hold out an arm to support him. I tell the guard, "Go find something more important to do. I'll take full responsibility for the matter from here. And if that means they decide to hang _me_ instead, so be it." 

"Bloody Grey Wardens. Bloody mages," the guard grumbles, walking off reluctantly. 

"Thank you. I owe you my life. My name is Corbin, by the way." 

"Come on, then, Corbin," I say. "Let's get you some food in your stomach and some clothes on your back." 

I lead him back to my tent, and pull out some food for him, and spare clothes from my bag. He's about the right size, so I don't need to transfigure them to fit him. 

Corbin gratefully puts on the clothes and eats. "Not to complain, but why are you doing this for me? You don't even know me, and I hadn't even offered you what I'd stolen yet." 

"Keep it, I don't care," I say. "And I'm helping you because I believe in freedom for all beings. Free will. Freedom of _choice_. No one deserves to be a prisoner or a slave." 

"That's a rare sort of attitude to run across these days," Corbin says. "I'm glad you found me before I hung. But if it's all the same to you, I'd like to be out of here before they manage to catch me again and hang me anyway." 

"Of course," I say. "Here's some provisions." I pull out some more things from my bag. "Lothering is two or three days' journey to the north." 

"I don't know how I can ever repay you for your kindness," Corbin says. 

I chuckle. "Live. Survive. Perhaps if we cross paths again, you might be able to help me out sometime by 'sneaking around after dark'." I wink at him. "But otherwise, no. You owe me nothing, and I won't ask anything of you but what you'd willingly give." 

"I wouldn't mind lending that sort of hand," Corbin says with a grin. "I'll try to get to Denerim. If you're ever in town, I'll find you... if this is any indication, you'll be more conspicuous than I would be!" 

I laugh. "Little doubt of that. May the Maker watch over you." 

I see Corbin off, escorting him to the north edge of camp just to make sure he gets out of here safely. It feels good to save a life, though Tom might mock me for it later. I turn back and head through camp, and find myself passing by the tents belonging to King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain. 

I, for one, am eager to meet Teyrn Loghain. I think I read somewhere that 'teyrn' is a title, not a name. Strange title. I wonder what language that's from? 

"This is the tent of Teyrn Loghain," says the guard standing outside. "What business do you have with the teyrn?" 

"Can you tell me about the teyrn?" I ask. 

"How can you not know of the great Teyrn Loghain?" the guard says. 

"I'm afraid I've been in the Circle Tower all my life," I say. "Don't always hear much of what's going on outside of it." 

The guard grunts. "Well, then, Teyrn Loghain was the one who drove out those damned Orlesians and freed Ferelden from their oppression. King Maric made him a teyrn for all his deeds. Can you imagine, a mere commoner becoming a high nobleman just like that?" 

"He sounds very impressive," I say without irony. 

"If it weren't for the teyrn, we wouldn't be doing as well here as we are," the guard goes on. "He's a brilliant tactician." 

"The king didn't seem too inclined to listen to him, from what I saw, though," I say. 

The guard shakes his head. "If I were the king, I'd do whatever Teyrn Loghain suggests." 

"It would probably be the wisest course of action, yes," I say. "Do the two of them not get along very well?" 

"Well, they're close, since the teyrn was good friends with King Cailan's father, King Maric. But King Cailan is a young man, and they yell at one another frequently." 

"I think we'd all be better off if we all listened more to men like Teyrn Loghain," I say. "May I speak with him, if he is not too busy at the moment?" 

"I suppose you must have business with him," the guard says. "One moment." He ducks into the tent, and emerges a minute later. "You may enter." 

I step inside the tent. The place is filled with maps of all sorts, and an armored man who distinctly reminds me of Severus Snape sits within. 

"Ah, you are the Grey Warden recruit that Duncan brought from the Circle Tower," Loghain says. 

"I am Lexen, yes," I say. "I was not aware that I was so well-known already." 

Loghain grunts. "King Cailan has an unhealthy fascination with your order, and would not stop speaking about you." 

I roll my eyes and sigh. "I hardly even spoke to him for two minutes." 

"You clearly must have impressed him nonetheless," Loghain says. "Are you aware that his father, King Maric, was the one who brought your order back into Ferelden?" 

"I believe I read some mention of that in a book somewhere," I say. "But it was unclear on why the Grey Wardens had ever been exiled from Ferelden in the first place." 

"Ancient history," Loghain replies. "They were involved in a rebellion, long ago. But it doesn't matter now. King Maric respected the Grey Wardens. But he would have understood that it takes more than legends to win a battle." 

"Of course," I say. "Legends can rally people around them, but even I would not presume to think I could kill an army by myself." 

"Unless they came a handful at a time through a doorway," Mouse puts in. 

"Who said that?" Loghain says, looking around in surprise. 

"The mouse in my pocket," I reply nonchalantly. "Anyway. It takes an army to defeat an army. Surely King Cailan realizes this? And that his place is _behind_ that army, not in front of it where he's likely to be _killed_?" 

"One can pray that he proves amenable to reason," Loghain says with a longsuffering sigh. 

"If anyone should be killed in this war, it should be me, or people like me," I say. "I'm expendable. It doesn't matter what happens to _me_." Immortality notwithstanding. It's easy to be brave when one can't actually die. 

"True," Loghain says. "Tell me, then, Lexen. Are you willing to die for your king? For your country?" 

"In a heartbeat," I say. "I wouldn't be here if I weren't." 

Loghain gives a terse nod. "Then trust me in that whatever I do will be what is best for our beloved Ferelden." 

"I will," I promise him. 

"I have work to do," Loghain says. "If you think you can convince King Cailan to see reason, perhaps he will listen to you. But I will not count on it." 

"I won't take up anymore of your time, then," I say, bowing and leaving the tent. 

"Lexen?" says Mouse quietly as I'm walking away. 

"What?" 

"Did you find him... attractive, or something?" 

I blink. "What makes you say that?" 

"I'm sitting here in your pocket," Mouse says. "I can _feel_ your heartbeat. And you were practically _swooning_ over him." 

"I was?" 

"You totally were." 

"Well, he _was_ rather handsome," I say. "And intelligent. And badass." 

"Swooning," Mouse says. "Totally swooning. What would Tom think?" 

"He'd laugh, and then ravish me," I reply. 

"Ugh," Mouse says. 

"Don't knock it till you've tried it," I say. 

"You're saying this to a mouse." 

"Point," I say. "Never mind." 

I head over to the Grey Warden section of camp to meet my new comrades. They welcome me warmly, this mismatched, ragtag band of warriors and scoundrels. The sort of group that could save a world. 

"So, you're the new recruit, huh?" says one of them, a big, boisterous man with a positively floofy beard. "What was your name again?" 

"Lexen," I say. 

"Right, that was it. I'm Gregor. I hear you passed the Joining. Congratulations. Have some ale." He practically shoves a tankard into my hands. 

"Have the nightmares been bad?" a scrawny elf asks. 

"Terrible," I say, laughing and taking a long draw of booze. "Duncan didn't warn me about that part." 

"It's always worse during a Blight," says a middle-aged man. 

"I'm not surprised," I say. "It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the whole archdemon thing, and all." 

"You got that right," Gregor says. "But for now, eat, drink, and be glad to be alive, for tomorrow we may die." 

* * *

The next day, I'm in my tent with Tom, exchanging information some more. We've got twelve years to catch up on, and while I've gained more knowledge about magic than he has, he knows more about the outside world than I've learned while stuck in the tower. 

Then, a silvery phoenix flits into the room and speaks in Gellert's voice, "Hey, Lexen. Guess what just showed up here at the Circle Tower like a drowned rat? A dwarf, of all things, by the name of Rispy Brosca. Shall I send him your way? Maybe he'd make a good Grey Warden, even." 

My eyes light up at that, and I pull out my wand and cast, " _Expecto Patronum_." The duck Patronus emerges. "Take a message to Gellert. That's great news! So, a dwarf, huh? I don't know about the Grey Wardens, but I certainly wouldn't mind having him fighting by my side again. It looks like we'll be seeing plenty of action out here. Either way, I'll be glad to see him again." 

"Rispy, huh," Tom says. "I was wondering whatever happened to him." 

"Maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all to bond someone who isn't a mage," I say. 

Tom shrugs. "At the time, neither I nor Gellert could cast a Patronus, anyway. I think the problem is more along the lines of the fact that we need better methods of communication, than anything else." 

"And transportation," I say, frowning. "I should just Apparate over to Lake Calenhad and pick up Rispy from there, really." 

"Good idea," Tom says. "Get him on the front lines now, instead of a week from now." 

After exchanging a couple more Patroni and arranging things with Gellert and Rispy, I step outside the tent. Apparating from wizard-space can be problematic, and I know that there will be too much magical interference to be able to Apparate directly to the Circle Tower. I only saw the town on the shores of Lake Calenhad twice, when arriving and leaving the tower, but that should still be enough. I'm not especially concerned by the fact that mages in Thedas don't know how to Apparate. They don't know how to do a lot of things that I know are perfectly possible. 

I step into a corner out of immediate sight from habit if nothing else, and focus upon the image in my mind. The lake with the inn beside it, a tower visible on a small, rocky island in the distance across the water. I reach for the Fade to send myself through... 

Pain. The familiar sensation of being squeezed through a tube. But something goes horribly, terribly wrong. I'm thrust into a nightmare. Darkness claws at me. I can't breathe. What's happening? I try to stay focused, to bring myself safely out the other side. 

... falling. Blackness. 

* * *

I wake in my tent, laying beside Tom. 

"What happened?" asks Tom. 

"I don't know," I say. " _Something_ went wrong." 

"That much is obvious," Tom says dryly. 

"I _almost_ managed to Apparate, but then it was like I got caught in the Fade midway between here and there, and couldn't come out." 

"What is this 'Apparating', anyway?" Mouse asks. 

"Like, teleporting," I say. 

Mouse snorts softly. "And what is 'teleporting'?" 

"Um... Magically crossing the distance between two places." 

"You were trying to physically cross the Fade?" Mouse says. "Without any sort of preparation or anything?" 

"Well, yes," I say. "All of the other worlds I've visited, that sort of thing worked just fine." 

"You're lucky all that did was kill you," Mouse says. 

"Is that not possible in this world?" Tom asks. 

"Oh, it can certainly be done," Mouse says. "But you apparently need to use different methods than you used on these other worlds." 

Gellert's phoenix Patronus appears in the room, and says, "What happened?" 

I send off a reply, "Looks like Apparation won't be that easy." 

"Can you teach us these methods?" Tom asks. 

"Well, I did agree to teach you everything I know about the Fade, didn't I," Mouse says. "Don't let it be said that I ever went back on a bargain." 

"Heh, yes, and I mean to hold you to that, I've just been a little busy lately," I say. 

"But, since you guys are such skilled and powerful mages, anything can be within your grasp, should you reach out and take it!" Mouse says gleefully. "I have no doubt that you will be able to master anything I could teach you in due time." 

"Of course," I say, grinning eagerly. 

Tom snickers. "Perhaps I should not be surprised that you wound up making a bargain with a pride demon. Intentionally or otherwise." 

"At least it wasn't a rage demon," Mouse says. "All the 'Rawr! I will kill you!' business is so passe." 

Mouse begins to instruct us and tell us about the Fade, and how we might be able to get our Apparation to work. I test it out, and wind up getting killed a couple more times before giving up on it for the moment and deciding that we're not going to be managing it today. 

"If you're quite done killing yourself," Gellert's Patronus says, "Rispy will be setting out from Kinloch Hold tomorrow. He'll probably arrive at Ostagar in a week to ten days." 

I call up my own Patronus to reply, "Alright. We should still be here. If the circumstances change and we wind up somewhere else, one of us will send a Patronus to him to let him know so we can meet up elsewhere." 

Gellert's phoenix returns after a couple minutes with the message, "Alright. Oh, also, he wanted to thank you for that day two weeks ago or so when you died a few times. I think that was the same day as your Harrowing. He says that it gave him the opportunity to avoid imprisonment and make a break for the surface. Something about rigging a tournament for the sake of a stupid bet. You'll have to get the details from him yourself." 

"Sounds like quite the story," I have my duck reply. "I daresay we've got a few of our own to exchange as well. You haven't been telling him anything too embarrassing or incriminating about me, have you?" 

"What are friends for?" the phoenix replies one last time before vanishing. 

I roll my eyes and say to Tom and Mouse, "Okay then... I can just imagine he's been regaling Rispy with tales of my fucked up Harrowing and all the stupid shit we've done in the tower over the years." 


	9. The Tower of Ishal

"I can't believe you never tried to Apparate before," I comment. 

Tom shrugs. "It wasn't really necessary. It never occurred to me that it might work differently here. I'll point out that _you_ never tried to Apparate either." 

"I spent the last twelve years stuck inside a magical area that would have interfered with it anyway." 

Tom chuckles and turns his attention back to our current project. We've gotten work started on a new, larger scale version of the Marauder's Map, this one encompassing all of Ferelden. 

"We really should make it all of Thedas," I say. "What if our adventures wind up taking us outside of Ferelden?" 

"Then we can magically make it zoom out," Tom says. "Just like we can use it to zoom in on Ostagar, Lothering, or the Circle Tower now." 

Those were the only places that, between the two of us, we knew well enough to include in detail on the map. Tom had visited a number of other towns as a child, but had lived in Lothering for the past ten years, and so only had passing knowledge of them. We _have_ marked the map with as many locations as we can, from cross-referencing more mundane maps, but it'll take actually visiting them to get more details about it. 

We even figured out how to make the map show nearby darkspawn. However, at the moment, it can't detect them further than I can sense them anyway, making that only marginally useful for pinpointing their numbers and positions. 

"Lexen?" says Duncan, poking his head into the tent. "Maker's breath, what is this tent? No, never mind, forget I asked." 

"Hello, Duncan," I say. "Do you need something, ser?" 

"The king wants you at a strategy meeting," Duncan says. "He asked for you by name, in fact." 

"Am I going to have to give him an autograph?" I ask. 

Duncan looks puzzled, but doesn't ask. He turns to Tom and says, "Shouldn't you be with the army, Hawke?" 

Tom shakes his head. "My brother and I have guard duty at the Tower of Ishal tonight. For some reason, they wanted us far from the front lines, after the incident." 

"What incident?" I ask, pre-empting Duncan. 

"Tell you later, love," Tom says, grinning. 

I chuckle, give Tom a peck, and head out for the meeting with King Cailan. When I arrive, he and Loghain are hunched over a table, looking at maps of the area and arguing. 

"My decision is final, Loghain," Cailan says. "I will stand with the Grey Wardens on the front lines." 

I sigh and come up to the table, and spread out my own map, tapping it to zoom it into the Ostagar area. Not many dots appear on the map at the moment. Just the Grey Wardens and a few others I was familiar enough with to key in on. 

"What is this?" Loghain says, peering at it. "A magic map?" 

"I'm still working on it," I say. "The one I made of the Circle Tower showed everyone inside. More importantly..." I turn to Cailan. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed?" 

Cailan looks at me in offense. "It will be a glorious battle! I'll be fine! The great hero does not cower in the back and bark orders!" 

I sigh and exchange a look with Loghain, and put my face in my hands. "Your Majesty, your kingdom needs you. All those songs of glorious victory are written by the victors, after they win their battles. They tell the bards to write whatever they want in order to make themselves look good, regardless of what really happened. _No one_ is going to think you a coward for not charging headlong to your death." 

"Maker's breath," Cailan mutters. "I just finished arguing this with Loghain, and now you're saying it, too?" 

I smirk. "And with all due respect, sire, perhaps you should listen to us." 

"Lexen," Duncan says in a strained voice. "We came here for a strategy meeting, not to rile up the king." 

"Of course," I say, bowing my head. 

"Right, yes," Cailan says, turning to look at his maps and gesturing toward them. "The Grey Wardens will be located here." I helpfully wave my hand to bring up an illusory army to help illustrate. "Yes, like that. We will lure the darkspawn into charging our ranks..." 

"And you will get signal Tower of Ishal to light the beacon," Loghain says. "Giving my men the notice to charge and flank the darkspawn. No, not there, a bit further over." 

"There?" I say, adjusting my magical display. 

"Yes, better," Loghain says. "I have some men stationed there. They can light the beacon." 

"You mean the Hawke brothers?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "I'm sure they can manage it just fine, yes." 

"No, no," Cailan says. "It's a vital task. We need to be sure to send our best. The junior Grey Wardens, Lexen and Alistair, should go." 

I snort softly. "Thomas Hawke is a _way_ better mage than I am." 

"You rely too much on the Grey Wardens," Loghain says. 

"I came here to kill darkspawn, but if you insist..." I say, shrugging. 

"I do," Cailan says. 

"Fine," I say. 

"The plan will suffice," Loghain says with a sigh. "The two Grey Wardens will light the beacon." 

"It will be a glorious moment," Cailan says, beaming dreamily. "The king of Ferelden stands beside the Grey Wardens to turn back the tide of evil!" 

"Yes, I'm sure it will be at that," Loghain says dryly, turning away. 

I gather up my map again and pocket it, and follow Duncan back toward the bonfire in front of his tent, where we meet up with Alistair again to give him the news. 

"Alistair," Duncan says. "We have a mission for the two of you. You are to light the beacon at the Tower of Ishal in order to signal Loghain's forces to charge." 

"You mean we won't be in the battle?" Alistair groans. 

"The king asked for the two of you specifically," Duncan says. 

" _I_ told him it wasn't necessary and that the Hawke brothers shouldn't have any trouble with it," I say. "But he insisted, so up we go to hold up a torch." I shrug. 

"Right," Alistair says. "But I'm drawing the line at putting on a dress and dancing the Remigold, even if the king asks me to do it." 

"I'm already wearing a dress, but I'm afraid I don't know the Remigold," I say. "How does it go?" 

Duncan sighs and puts his face in his palm. 

"Anyway, where's this tower at?" I ask. 

"Over there," Duncan says, pointing. 

"Oh," I say. "That tower. Over there. How did I miss that?" 

"You have selective perceptions," Mouse says. 

"We will signal you when the time is right," Duncan says. "Alistair will know what to look for." 

"You know, I could just stay with _you_ and send my Patronus up to Tom to signal him. Or, hey, more logically, why don't we just skip the tower entirely and I can just send my Patronus straight to Loghain? Wouldn't that make more sense?" 

"What's a Patronus?" Alistair asks. 

"Perhaps we should keep some of your more unusual abilities a bit more quiet," Duncan says. "I don't think it will be necessary to reveal them to the people at large at this time." 

"Alright, alright," I say. "The tower it is." I shrug. 

"What _is_ a Patronus?" Alistair repeats. 

"He summons a magic duck to take messages to people," Mouse says. 

"Something like that," I say. 

"A duck?" Alistair says. "Seriously?" 

"Don't you dare laugh." 

Alistair stifles snickers. "Of course. Wouldn't dream of mocking your... magic duck." 

Duncan sighs again. "The darkspawn are approaching. Be ready. They will likely be at our gates by nightfall." 

"Plenty of time to catch a nap," I say lightly. 

Alistair, still snickering, heads off, and Duncan pulls me aside into his tent privately. "There is one more thing to attend to first." 

"What is it?" I ask. 

Duncan rolls up the treaty scrolls and passes them over to me. "Put these away in your magic bag. Keep them safe. Just in case." 

I nod and tuck them in my bag of holding. "Afraid something's going to go wrong?" 

"Unless you have some knowledge of the future that I do not," Duncan says. "Not afraid. I'd just rather be prepared and have contingency plans set." 

"Of course," I say. "Worst case scenerio?" 

"Worst case scenerio, do what you must to stop the Blight," Duncan says. "Do _anything_ that is necessary in order to accomplish that goal." He sighs. "I would not be telling this if you were the ordinary apprentice recruit that I thought you were at first. But you know war." 

"And I know how even the best laid plans can go awry," I say. "How victory can turn to disaster in the blink of an eye." 

"But, there's no need to get morbid," Duncan says. "It's entirely likely that the battle will go well, and we shall slay many darkspawn." 

"Will you be wanting the scrolls back, then?" I ask. 

"Keep them," Duncan says. "I think they'll be best in your hands, regardless. Remember the Grey Warden motto. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice." 

"Yes, ser," I say. "I won't let you down. I'll see this Blight ended, I swear it." 

"May the Maker watch over us all." 

* * *

"Looks like the battle is starting," Alistair says. 

I can sense darkspawn tugging at the edges of my being. The sound of shouts in the distance, the clash of metal on metal. A rumble of thunder in the sky heralds the coming storm, as rain splatters against the ground, churning the old fortress into a sea of mud. 

"Let's get into position," I say. "Tom and Carver Hawke will be waiting for us." 

As we head for the bridge, a silvery snake appears before us and speaks in Tom's voice, "Lexen! Get your arse over to this tower! Darkspawn came up from the lower chambers. Most of our contingent are dead." 

"Andraste's ass," I mutter as it vanishes, the message given. "We better hurry." 

"What was that?" Alistair wonders as we make our way through the mud toward the gorge. 

"That was Tom's Patronus," I say. 

We break into a run across the bridge over the gorge. The ground is slick, and I'm careful not to slip and fall. Down below, chaos rages. Archers and ballistae set atop the bridge provide fire support against the darkspawn, but the darkspawn are fighting back. 

Something large and flaming strikes the bridge just ahead of us, sending archers flying. I stumble back, holding out a hand to Alistair for a moment, and then continue on hurriedly. It's not good to be out in the open like this. 

"There you are!" cries Tom as we approach the Tower of Ishal, waving his staff and incinerating another group of darkspawn. "I was wondering if you were going to show." 

"Wouldn't miss it," I say. "I take it this is your mysterious brother?" I nod toward the armored swordsman next to him. 

"Yeah," Tom says. "This is Carver Hawke. Carver, this is Lexen Chelseer." 

"And I'm Alistair. Nice to meet you. Well, as nice as it could be, under the circumstances." 

"No time for pleasantries," Carver says. "We've got darkspawn to kill." 

"Why shouldn't we just send a Patronus to Loghain?" Tom wonders. 

"Duncan said not to," I say. 

Tom shrugs. "No skin off my nose." 

"Be glad you have a nose at all." 

Carver skewers another genlock that comes near. "Let's just get into the tower and up to that beacon. We have a mission to do here." 

Without arguing about it further, we head inside the Tower of Ishal and start fighting our way through a small horde of darkspawn. In the back of the first floor, we come upon a large hole in the floor leading down into a cavernous space below. 

"That must be how they got in here," Carver says. 

"They're more cunning than I would have given them credit for," I mutter as we continue on upstairs. 

"These darkspawn weren't even supposed to be here," Alistair says. 

"If I'd realized there was such a clear breach in our defenses, I'd have collapsed that tunnel before the battle," Tom comments. 

"We need to get up there and light that beacon!" Alistair says. "Loghain is waiting for us!" 

"That would be easier if Lexen weren't stopping to pick up everything shiny along the way," Carver says dryly. 

"Don't mind me," I say, waving a hand absently and dropping some coins into my bag. 

"We're wasting time!" Carver says. 

We finally climb up to the top floor of the tower. There, in the center of the circular room, is an enormous humanoid creature, all gray skin and muscle, two long, curving horns adoring its head. It appears to be munching on bloody meat when we arrive, probably human flesh, what's left of the tower guards. As it notices us, it turns to let out an ear-splitting roar, and charges. 

"Maker's breath, what is that thing?" Carver utters, slashing at it with his greatsword. 

"Ogre!" Alistair cries. 

"Ogre?" I say. "What kind of a name is that for a darkspawn? Why not 'oghlock' or something?" 

The ogre roars at me and grabs me by the throat with a big beefy hand. Apparently it didn't like my comment. I struggle to breathe, to cast some magic to free myself, but only for a moment. Pain, a sickening crunch, darkness. 

* * *

I wake with a groan in my tent, and roll out of bed with a thump. That could have gone better. I head out and pack up my tent, and go to meet up with Alistair. The sky is growing dark as night rapidly approaches, and I can be glad for the fact that I did decide to take a nap after all. 

"Good, you're here," Alistair says. "The battle is starting, from the looks of things." 

"We have to get to the tower," I say, wasting not a moment to make my way across the bridge. 

As I rush over the gorge, something strikes me hard, and I go flying. Before I can react, I slam into a rock wall, and the world winks out again. 

* * *

I wake again and roll my eyes a bit. I'd forgotten about the darkspawn slinging things at the bridge. Need to be more careful. I go and pack up my tent again. 

"How many times are you planning to get killed tonight?" Mouse asks. 

"As many as necessary," I say. 

"I wouldn't say _any_ is necessary," Mouse says. 

"I'm going to go kill a damned ogre, Mouse." 

"Not going to just run away?" 

"It's a point of pride," I say with a grin. 

"Heh heh," Mouse says. "Have at it. Show that ogre who's the best." 

I meet up with Alistair, and say, "Come on. Let's get to the tower. We've got darkspawn to kill." I head across the bridge. 

"But we're not supposed to be in the battle," Alistair says. 

"There you are!" Carver shouts at us as we reach the other side. "The tower's been overrun by darkspawn!" 

We fight our way through the tower again. I spend less time rooting around for shiny things, if only because I can remember the places where I found the more interesting trinkets and can ignore the rest. As we reach the stairs to the top floor, I have Tom stun me briefly. 

"What was that about?" Alistair wonders. 

I pull out my wand from my bag. "Just a precaution. Be on your guard." I climb the stairs, and before the ogre even has a chance to turn around, I focus my anger and hate upon it and shout, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " 

A flash of green light washes over the ogre, but all it does is roar at us, seemingly unaffected. 

"Andraste's ass, they're immune to the Killing Curse?" Tom says. 

The only effect is that the ogre is now very annoyed at me. It picks me up like a rag doll and flings me against the far wall with enough force to snap my neck. 

* * *

I wake on the third floor of the Tower of Ishal and spring to my feet with a frown. 

"What was that about?" Alistair asks. 

"There's an ogre up there," I say. "And I don't care to get my neck broken. Alistair, wanna go smack it with your shield to get its attention?" 

"Oh, sure, no problem," Alistair drawls as he heads up the stairs. "How did you know?" he wonders upon seeing the ogre, and charges ahead with his shield. 

"Would you believe me if I said 'magic'?" I reply, shooting electricity at the ogre. 

Tom rains spells down upon the monstrosity, and Carver and Alistair slash at it with their blades. The ogre roars again in pain as Tom's acid spell sears half of its face off. Then, it reaches out and flicks Carver's greatsword out of his hand, and crushes his skull like a grape. 

"Carver!" Tom cries, finishing off the ogre with a raging burst of flame before turning to me. "We're going back. We're going to save him." 

"What are you talking about?" Alistair says. "He's dead. I'm sorry." 

"Good luck, Alistair," Tom says. 

I pull out my bag of holding and toss it to Alistair. "You can have my things. The treaties are in there, too. Maker watch over you." 

I don't even care to argue at Tom's sentiment. I just call upon my Time Magic to shrink myself down, aging myself out of existence. Alistair will just have to take care of things on his own, in that timeline. 

* * *

"What was that about?" Alistair repeats as I get up again. 

"Ogre on top floor," I say. "Be careful." 

This time, we focus a bit more on defensive magic, especially to protect Alistair and Tom's Squib brother. They don't have magic of their own to hold the enemy at bay. 

I look at the ogre in cold fury and think of winter in my homeland, and shout, " _Nevischio!_ " 

Ice like daggers rains down upon the ogre, and as it tries to bat them away from its eyes and turns toward me, it slips on the slick coating of ice at its feet, and falls to the ground with an earthshaking slam. Alistair and Carver also lose their balance, although Carver clambers to his feet again quickly. 

Tom flicks out another quick round of spells to keep the ogre down. "Quick! Finish it while it's down!" 

Alistair gets up and leaps onto the ogre's chest and plunges his sword into the monster's throat. A gush of black blood spurts out, practically coating him in filth. Carver takes a step back, making a face. 

"Don't touch me," Alistair says to the Hawke brothers. "Try not to get any of their blood on you. You aren't Grey Wardens. I'm immune to this stuff." 

" _Scourgify_ ," I mutter, waving my hand at Alistair, but it only does so much toward cleaning him off. 

Carver goes over to light the beacon while Tom and I hit Alistair with a few more Cleansing Charms to get the nasty black blood off of him. 

Flames blaze to life, lighting up the beacon at the top of the tower that could be seen for miles around. "It's done," Carver says. "I hope we're not too late." 

"We better not be," I scowl. 

I stalk up to the edge of the room, where a gap where part of the wall has crumbled away allows looking out over the landscape below. I know there's a battle going on somewhere down there, but it's impossible to make out any details from here. In my mind, however, I imagine Loghain's forces sweeping down upon the unsuspecting darkspawn hordes, crushing them between the hammer and anvil. 

Then, a tugging sensation within me. "Darkspawn," I hiss. 

"They're coming up from below," Alistair says, readying his sword again. 

A stream of darkspawn pours up the stairs and out into the wide room. Tom and I take out as many of them as we can with our spells while Alistair and Carver try to hold them at bay. Darkspawn arrows darken the air. I hiss in pain from my gut, and glance down to see an arrow protruding from my side. Damn it, we'd just managed to kill the ogre without losing anyone, and now I'm about to die again. A second arrow strikes me in the chest, and darkness takes me. 

* * *

I wake in the Tower of Ishal. Upstairs again to fight the ogre. This time, I'm careless and annoyed, and the ogre snaps my spine. 

* * *

I wake again in the tower. There's no use being a stubborn idiot here. I drink down a lyrium potion to dispel the magical exhaustion threatening to drag my down. We head upstairs and carefully engage the ogre, and I cast a Sleetstorm Curse at it again, warning Alistair and Carver about what I'm going to cast beforehand. We slay the monster and light the beacon. 

"More darkspawn are about to come up at us from below," I say. 

"Your darkspawn sense is very acute," Alistair says. "Maybe it's because you're a mage?" 

I shrug noncommittally. I'd rather not have to explain time travel to him at all if I can possibly help it. If he thinks that my apparent precognition is because of Grey Warden powers, so much the better. 

Darkspawn rush up from below, pelting us with arrows. Just how are we going to get out of this one? 

"There's too many!" Alistair cries. 

"Keep fighting!" I shout. "Every one we kill is one the others don't have to deal with!" 

But it's still too much. I pour out all my magic again in shielding and healing spells, lightning attacks to bring them down. I'm everywhere it once, it seems like, but even I can't do everything. Head spinning and exhausted to the point of collapse, I sink to the stone floor and slip away into darkness. 

* * *

I wake, but I'm not in anyplace that I recognize. Not in my tent, nor at the Tower of Ishal. Where am I? What happened? 

"Your eyes finally open?" says a woman's voice. 

I blink up at the ceiling and let my eyes focus. I move to sit up, and my head starts spinning again. I clutch my head dizzily and slump back onto the bed. "I think I'd better stay here for the moment." 

"You took a nasty hit," the woman says. I think I dimly recognize her. "You should probably at least get something in your stomach to help you recover." 

"You're Morrigan," I say. "The-- the woman we met in the wilds." 

"You remember me," Morrigan says. "How flattering. Here, I have some stew for you. Can you eat it yourself, or do I need to spoonfeed you?" 

"I can eat," I assure her, even though I'm not too sure of it myself. But being spoonfed would offend my pride _far_ more than I'm willing to admit. I take the bowl of hearty stew from her and start eating hungrily and with shaking hands. 

"Do be careful not to spill any," Morrigan says. "I do not have an abundance of clean water solely for the purpose of cleaning up after you." 

"Would you like me to teach you some household charms?" I say with a smirk. "So what happened to the others that were with me?" 

"They are safe and well," Morrigan says. "Mother rescued the four of you from atop the tower." 

"And the battle?" I ask. "How did it go? Do you know?" 

"The man who was supposed to respond to your signal decided to retreat instead," Morrigan says. "The king and his army were slaughtered." 

I almost choke on a bit of meat. "King Cailan is dead? Duncan? The Grey Wardens?" 

"Indeed," Morrigan says. "The other Grey Warden has not been taking it well." 

My head spins, and not just from exhaustion, hunger, or dizziness this time. Duncan, and the other Grey Wardens, all dead? He wanted to be prepared for the worst, but I didn't think it would actually come to this. 

"Maker's breath," I murmur. I feel sick. Not enough to stop eating, of course, as I also feel like I haven't eaten in a month. 

"Mother and I have patched you up and bandaged your wounds," Morrigan says. "Tis a wonder that all four of you survived." 

"How did she get to us?" I ask. "We were on top of a tower surrounded by darkspawn on all sides..." 

"She turned into a dragon and plucked you up, one in each talon, of course," Morrigan says. "Whether you believe that story or not is your choice. You can ask her yourself, if you like. She might even tell you the truth." 

"I think I'll just go with the dragon bit and leave it at that for the moment," I say, passing off my empty bowl. "I think... I'm still exhausted, and everything hurts. I don't want to just lay here while the darkspawn are out there, though..." 

"Rest," Morrigan says, taking the bowl. "Regain your strength. You are safe enough here, for now. The horde has moved on, and Mother's magic will keep the darkspawn at bay." 

"Thank you, Morrigan," I murmur, flopping onto my back and letting my eyes slide shut. 

"You are welcome," Morrigan says a little awkwardly as I drift off into sleep again. 

* * *

Nightmares of corrupted dragons plague my sleep, but when I finally wake again, I feel much rested, ready to take on everything, even if I feel a little guilty about sleeping away while the Blight ravages the world. 

Duncan. Cailan. The Grey Wardens. All dead. I sigh and rub my face, and stumble outside. The tent has been set up a short ways away from the hut, and my companions are seated around a crackling fire along with Morrigan's mother. Tom looks up from where he was working on the map, and smiles at me when he see me. I go over and hug him. 

"How long was I out?" I ask. 

"A good three days," Tom replies. 

Alistair had been staring quietly into the fire when I approached, and now he looks up at me. "You're alive! I thought you were going to die for sure." 

"You didn't want to listen to me," Tom says. "I told you he would be fine. It was just a case of severe magical exhaustion. He drained himself dry to kill those darkspawn and keep the rest of us safe." 

I give a bow of gratitude toward the old witch. I absently cast a Naming Charm as I realize that she either didn't mention her name to me, or I've forgotten it. "Thank you for saving us, Flemeth. Without your timely rescue, getting out of that tower might have proven... problematic." 

"Flemeth?" Alistair says in surprise. "Why do you call her that? Is she really, _the_ Flemeth? The one from the legends?" 

I shrug. "Don't look at me. Does it matter? She saved us, after all." 

"Not to sound ungrateful, but why did you save us... Flemeth?" Alistair asks, seeing that she didn't protest at being called that. 

"Well, we can't have all the Grey Wardens in Ferelden dying at once, can we?" Flemeth says. 

"You could have saved Duncan though," Alistair says. "Or King Cailan. Or any of the others. Why _us_?" 

"Because I was there," I say quietly. "That was why, wasn't it? You didn't want just any Grey Wardens. You wanted _me_." 

"Don't you just love how he always thinks everything is all about him?" Mouse says cheerfully, looking up from nibbling on a bit of food on a log. 

"Why you?" Alistair says, turning to me. 

"Because I'm the one most likely to actually manage to succeed in doing this," I say. 

Mouse jumps off the log and scurries over to me, climbing up my robes and perching upon my shoulder. "Just let me bask in your pride a bit, hmm?" he whispers into my ear. 

I snicker softly. I go over and grab myself a bowl of stew, and take a seat next to the fire to eat. Calming myself. I could go back and prevent this all from happening. It would require getting Tom to cast the Killing Curse from me and using the Nexus to return to a point before the battle. But what good would it really do? I could save Duncan and the Grey Wardens. Maybe. I might even be able to save Cailan. Doubtful. Duncan at least would actually listen to me. He knows of my power. But even still, the Grey Wardens would not be willing to back down from a fight. 

And Loghain? What of Loghain? I liked him. I trusted him. Why did he do this? He told me... he told me to trust that whatever he did would be for the good of Ferelden. Was he planning this ahead of time? I find it hard to believe. It's hard to believe that he could have predicted this outcome. He would have had to have more precognizance than I do to know how the battle would have turned out. Maybe it was simply the best tactical decision he could have made under the circumstances. 

"Damn that Loghain," Alistair is muttering, as if reading my thoughts and getting completely the wrong impression of them. "How could he betray the king like that?" 

"You don't know that," I say. "You don't _know_ why he chose to do what he did." 

"I can't think of any good reason why he'd abandon the king and the Grey Wardens on the field of battle!" Alistair says. "They were counting on him! And he just... left. And now they're-- they're all dead." 

"Just because _you_ can't think of a reason doesn't mean there can't be one," I say. 

"I can't believe you're trying to justify his actions!" 

I sigh and put my face in my free hand. "All I'm saying is, don't make assumptions. For all we know, we lit the signal fire too late, and Loghain realized this and chose to make the difficult decision of saving his men from a needless slaughter. For all we know, he could be weeping over the loss of his son-in-law right now. How can you presume to know what was going on in his head at that moment?" 

"But..." Alistair sighs. "I don't know." 

"The real question is, what now?" Carver asks. "Now that Lexen is awake, we should be getting a move on." 

"Indeed you should," Flemeth agrees. 

"Most importantly, we need to stop the Blight," I say. 

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Alistair asks. "The army is gone! And now we're the only Grey Wardens left in Ferelden! How can we do this by ourselves?" 

I roll my eyes. "You know, if you want to go to a tavern somewhere and get drunk, you can always just leave it to me." 

Alistair is taken aback. "I can't do that! I-- Like it or not, I'm a Grey Warden!" 

"Good," I say firmly. "Because I swore to Duncan that no matter what happened, I would see this Blight ended, by any means necessary." 

"If Arl Eamon knew what Loghain had done, he'd call the Landsmeet up against him!" Alistair says. 

"This isn't just about Loghain," I say. 

"He still has all of his men," Alistair says. "He could help with the Blight, too..." 

I give a nod, and pull the scrolls out of my bag. "We have these, too." 

"The treaties?" Alistair says. "Where did you get those?" 

"Duncan entrusted them to me before the battle," I say. "Just in case. Hmm. They enable the Grey Wardens to demand aid during a Blight from the Circle of Magi, the Dalish elves, the dwarves of Orzammar..." 

"If I'm not mistaken, that sounds like an army to me," Flemeth says. 

"Do you really think we can do this?" Alistair asks. 

"No," I say. "I _know_ I can do this. Not 'we'. I'm not going to turn down anyone that wants to come along and help, but from this moment forth, I'm taking charge of Grey Warden operations in Ferelden." 

Alistair gapes at me for a moment, and then stammers, "Well. Alright then. I didn't want to be in charge anyway." 

I give a terse nod. "Nothing against you or anything, but I'm used to doing things my way. If I start barking orders, I don't need anyone to start questioning whether I have any right to give them or not." 

"Understood," Alistair says. 

"And what about Tom and I?" Carver asks. "We're not Grey Wardens." 

"I'm going with Lexen, of course," Tom says. 

"We should get back to Lothering, though," Carver says. "With Ostagar fallen, Mum and Bethany are straight in the horde's path. We've got to get them out of harm's way." 

"Agreed," Tom says, looking to me. 

I nod. "That will be our first order of business, then." 

"There is one more bit of aid that I can give you before you go," Flemeth says. "I'm sending Morrigan along with you." She gestures to the young witch who just emerged from behind the hut. 

"What?" Morrigan says, nearly dropping the basket of herbs she was carrying in surprise. 

"She can help to guide you through the wilds and past the horde," Flemeth says. "And her magic will supplement your own nicely. She is cunning and capable." 

"Not to complain or anything, but we'll be running across templars outside of the wilds," Alistair says. "She's an apostate." 

"So am I," Tom points out. 

"You are?" Alistair says, blinking at him. "I thought you were a Circle mage." 

"I was just pretending to be in order to join the army," Tom says. "They didn't have time to ask Kirkwall if I was actually from their Circle or not." 

"I say we claim that they're Grey Wardens," I say. "Anyone that could contradict us is likely dead anyway." 

"Do Grey Wardens usually dress like _that_?" Carver says. 

"Mother, I'm not ready for this," Morrigan says. 

"Oh, go on," Flemeth says. "You've been wanting to get out of the wilds for years. It will be a good opportunity for you." 

"But..." Morrigan sighs. "Oh, very well. Let me get my things, and we can be off." 

"It's still early," I say. "We can make it halfway to Lothering by the end of the day. Oh, Tom, did you get a message off to Rispy?" 

Tom nods. "I told him to meet us in Lothering." 

"Good, good." 

Tom hisses to me in Parseltongue, barely audibly, "I take it we're not going to be going back to try to prevent the massacre? It makes no difference to me, either way." 

"Not right now," I reply in the same tongue. "We can always go back again sometime. But let's just continue on with this timeline as it is. More importantly, there's too much information that we lack. I want to know why Loghain did this. There's no use in trying to change the past without information that could be vitally important." 

"What are you two lovebirds whispering about?" Carver asks. 

"What were you doing with Peaches behind Barlin's shed?" Tom asks. 

"Never mind," Carver mutters. "I don't think I want to know." 


	10. Lothering

What a motley crew we are, heading north through the Korcari Wilds toward Lothering. It's a good thing Morrigan is with us, though. Otherwise we might have spent many more days wandering around this place than necessary. The Blight has turned this area treacherous, and even though the bulk of the horde isn't upon us, we still run across smaller groups wandering around the area. 

As we travel along the path Morrigan has set for us, a big black dog comes bounding toward us, lolling out his tongue when he sees me. 

"Say, I think this is the dog I helped in Ostagar," I say. 

The dog turns and looks over his shoulder, where a small group of darkspawn I'd sensed are approaching. Too many of them for one dog to readily take on by himself, but with the help of us humans, we're able to dispatch them with little difficulty. 

"Did you realize we were here and wanted our help?" I say. "Or maybe it's the other way around." 

"If you helped him before, he must have realized you were out here and come looking for you," Alistair says. "He's chosen you, I think. Imprinted upon you." 

"Good boy," I say, grinning and patting the mabari hound. "Although I suppose if you had a name before, you're not going to be able to tell us what it is now. So how do you like the name Padfoot?" 

"Padfoot?" Tom repeats with a chuckle. 

The dog barks enthusiastically and wags his stubby little tail. 

"Don't tell me that we're going to have this mangy dog following us around now, in addition to the talking mouse and several mangy humans?" Morrigan says. 

"He's not mangy!" Alistair says fondly. 

"So you are not arguing about yourself," Morrigan says. "Tis good that we are clear on that." 

* * *

Further along the highway, we come upon a number of armed individuals wearing leather armor, not far from the outskirts of Lothering. 

"Ah, more travelers!" says one of them, approaching us with a broad grin on his face, and says to me, "I take it you are the leader of this group?" 

"Maybe we should leave these ones alone," says the balding man beside him thickly. "They don't look much like the others. And I think those two might be mages. I don't want to be a toad!" 

I really ought to learn how to _actually_ turn people into toads, for all so many seem to be afraid of it. 

"There's nothing like bandits, except stupid bandits," Carver mutters. 

"How low can you get, to prey upon those fleeing from the darkspawn horde?" Alistair adds. 

"Nonsense," says the leader of the bandits. "We are simply collecting a toll from passing travelers. A mere ten silver, and you are free to pass by." 

"Toll collectors," I repeat flatly. 

"Indeed! We are collecting for the upkeep of the Imperial Highway." He gestures back to the crumbling stretch of road behind him, the broken pillars, the ruined stoneworks that have been scavenged and cannibalized by local. 

"They are fools," Morrigan says. "I say we teach them a lesson." 

"Is that a threat?" says the bandit leader. "We do have you outnumbered." 

"Do you?" I say. "I'm counting six on six here." 

"I wasn't counting the woman or the dog." 

Morrigan glares at him. "You are more the fools, then." 

"Indeed," I say. "And also, by the way, not two of us, but _three_ of us are mages." 

"Ah, perhaps we can just let you pass without a toll, just this once." 

"I think not," I say. "You are bandits, and no one is going to miss you. You die here and now." 

I unleash electrical fury upon them, and Tom and Morrigan don't need to be told twice to join in with their own magic. At the edges of my perception, I'm dimly aware of the bandit leader begging for mercy and making excuses about just trying to get by, but I ignore him and continue my assault without even pausing. 

"Maker, I thought it was just the darkspawn, but you are pretty scary when you fight," Alistair says. 

"Why should you be scared of me?" I say bitterly. "You could just take my magic away in an instant." I glance off toward the village, visible in the distance. 

"You know I wouldn't do that," Alistair says quickly. "I just meant--" 

"I know what you meant," I snap, shaking my head and sifting through the corpses of the bandits and nearby crates. There's also the corpse of a knight nearby, recent by the looks of it. 

"Those bandits killed a knight?" Alistair says. 

"Looks like it," I say, biting back the comment that I should probably have thanked them for that before killing them. "Looks like he was from Redcliffe. Something about looking for a Brother Genitivi, and the Urn of Sacred Ashes." 

"Why would the knights of Redcliffe be looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Alistair says. 

"And what might that be?" Morrigan wonders. 

"According to legend, when the prophet Andraste was burned to death, her ashes were placed in an urn, and were supposed to have miraculous healing powers. Of course, no one knows where this urn might be, if it even exists at all." 

I pocket the knight's possessions in addition to anything valuable that the bandits had on them or had likely stolen from travelers coming by, and move on. 

Lothering has gone downhill, so to speak, since I last passed through here not so very long ago. A small village of refugee tents has been erected outside the actual village itself, and there's an air of tension and despair. Wailing cries of children, the coughs of the ill and sick, the heavy smell of too many people packed into a close space. 

"Alright, if anyone says that this place is pretty as a painting or something, I'm going to zap you," I comment. 

"I'm sure that if anyone were to say anything so trite, it would be meant purely ironically," Tom says with a smirk. "Come, brother. Let's go home, shall we?" 

"Aye," Carver says. "Best get Mum and Bethany ready to leave as quickly as possible." 

I give a nod. "Alright. I'll go see if I can find Rispy, provided he has arrived yet, and maybe scrounge up some supplies or something along the way." 

We part ways, and I head off into town along with Alistair, Morrigan, and Padfoot, carefully weaving my way through the encampments of refugee tents. I can't help but stop and offer a bit of healing magic to some of them along the way, however. 

"I don't see why you're wasting your time and energy on them," Morrigan says. 

"Neither do I, to be honest with you," I say with a shrug. "But it just seems so easy to reach out a hand to help, and if I can do that, why not? Even the smallest effort can make a difference sometimes." 

There's a man in templar armor standing at the gates to the village proper, and I tense involuntarily as we approach him. "You there!" 

"Yes?" I say uneasily. I'm a Circle Mage. I'm a Grey Warden. I'm no runaway mage, or hedge wizard, or apostate. I have every right to be here. 

"There's no safe shelter to be found here," the templar says. "Move on if you can. The darkspawn will be upon us soon, and we're trying to get everyone out of here as quickly as possible." 

I relax at that. He doesn't care about hunting apostates at the moment. He's more concerned about the Blight. That's more sensible than I had expected from templars. "What has been happening here lately? It looks like there's a lot of refugees." 

"Indeed," the templar replies. "They've been streaming in from the south for days. The tavern and the Chantry are overflowing, and there simply isn't enough food to go around." 

"I'll do what I can to help where it's needed," I say. 

"Ser mage?" says a woman's voice from behind me. One of the refugees is leading a handful of children, and carrying another one in her arms. "I heard you were healing people? Perhaps you could spare a moment for these poor children? They've lost their parents, you see, and..." 

"Of course," I say, turning to see to it. A cough here, a broken finger there, scrapes and cuts and dehydration. I _Scourgify_ them all on top of it, and conjure some clean water for them to drink. "There you go. Better?" 

"Thank you, ser mage," says the woman. "We won't take up anymore of your time." She herds the children off. 

I turn back to the templar, who says, "You do the Maker's work, mage. You're a credit to the Circle, and we're glad to have your aid." 

"Thank you," I say. "For a moment there, I was afraid you were going to think I was a runaway or something. But the only thing _I'm_ running away from is Ostagar." I make a face. 

"Of course," the templar says. "No one can blame you for that. Precious few survivors, barring the teyrn's army that came marching through here a few days back." 

"Have you seen a dwarf in town, by chance?" I ask. "He'd been coming to Ostagar, but was delayed, and now it's too late. I was supposed to meet up with him here." 

"A dwarf? Hmm, well there were two dwarves, a merchant and his son, but I doubt that's who you mean." 

"Yeah, not a merchant," I say. "A warrior." 

"I haven't seen him, then. But he might still be around here somewhere. I've mainly been watching the south gate, keeping an eye out for darkspawn, and if he came from the north, I might have missed him." 

I give a nod. "Thanks anyway. I'll leave you to your watch." 

Further into town, we come across a Chantry woman harassing a merchant for the prices he's charging, threatening to have the templars just give away everything in his carts. They both turn to me, trying to convince me to get the merchant to lower his prices and to get the sister to leave him alone, respectively. 

I sigh and put my face in my hand. "I was mainly interested in selling some extra weapons and armor that I don't need, but if I must deal with this first, then so be it." 

"He is charging ridiculous prices for vital supplies!" the Chantry sister says. "People are fleeing for their lives, and he is profiting from their blood!" 

"And I'm sure that they will be quite eager to turn around and lend _him_ a hand if he is in need in the near future?" I say, looking to the merchant. "Alright, how about this. I really don't care what you charge. But I'm buying all of your food." 

"I-- Well, I suppose we can work with that," the merchant says. 

I turn to the Chantry woman and say, "Sister, you can make sure that the food is distributed to those in need?" 

"Yes, of course," the sister says. "Maker's blessings upon you, my good man." She bows her head toward me gratefully. 

"Tis so nice to see how willing you are to waste our money on this as well as our time," Morrigan says. 

"I'll do what I please with _my_ money," I say, sifting through my bag and exchanging junk and coins with the merchant. I do keep some of the better-looking bits, however, in case Rispy or anyone else might want them. However, I'd rather not keep _any_ of the darkspawn weapons around in my bag. Even cleaned up, I'm uncomfortable handling them. Maybe I shouldn't sell them at all. Oh well. 

"Where _did_ you get that much money, anyway?" Alistair wonders quietly. "I thought you were in the tower all your life." 

"I did lyrium smuggling on the side," I say absently. 

Alistair blinks at me. "Really?" 

I smirk at him. "Feel free to decide for yourself whether or not I'm telling the truth. It hardly matters to me." 

Near the Chantry, I can _hear_ the shouting of a man before I see him. There's a man whose garb marks him as a Chasind barbarian, ranting and raving about the darkspawn and the hopelessness of fighting. I sigh and rub my head as I approach. 

"They will destroy us!" shouts the Chasind man. "And here one of their minions comes! The stench of evil is strong upon him!" He gestures vaguely toward me. 

I glance around me and raise an eyebrow. "Seriously?" I say. "You're so addled that you think _I'm_ a darkspawn?" 

"The black horde descended upon the lands of my people!" yells the barbarian. "They swept across our villages and destroyed all in their path! It is hopeless! We are all going to die!" 

I sigh, and lift my hand to point at him, and say, " _Silencio_." 

The man continues to rave and gesture, but no sound comes out of his mouth. The people around him in the Chantry courtyard breathe sighs of relief. 

"Thank you, mage," says a templar. "I thought he would never shut up. I was starting to get a headache." 

"Know this," I say, turning to the crowd, firmly but not loudly. "The darkspawn are not an all-powerful evil. They can be defeated. They die like anything else. Fight if you can, flee if you cannot, but do not give in to despair. There is always hope. All strife will pass." 

"You really think we can do this, then?" says one of the refugees tentatively. 

"Absolutely," I say. 

"Let's not just lay down and die," says another. 

They murmur amongst themselves for a bit before filing out of the Chantry courtyard, leaving behind the Chasind man, who is still gesturing vehemently. The barbarian finally puts his face in his hands and then runs off as well. I absently cancel my spell as he goes. 

We step into the Chantry. The place is packed with refugees and templars. I'd be more nervous about the latter if it weren't for the encounter with the one outside. 

"Say," Alistair says quietly. "I think I recognize that man over there. He's from Redcliffe." 

I nod, and pass over the belongings I'd taken off the knight outside. "You go talk to him, then. I'm going to speak with the templars over here." 

I head over to the one who seems to be in charge. "I am Ser Bryant, commander of the Lothering templars." Good, my guess was correct, then. "And who might you be?" 

"I am Lexen, now commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden with the unfortunate death of Duncan." 

"I see," Bryant says. "Are you aware that Teyrn Loghain has declared all Grey Wardens to be criminals, responsible for the death of the king?" 

I sigh and put my face in my palm. "He seriously claimed that?" 

"And put a bounty on any who survived. Now, I don't believe that the Grey Wardens would do such a thing, but such as it is." 

"I think that if the Grey Wardens really wanted the king dead for some reason, we could have done so without most of us dying in the process ourselves," I say dryly. 

"There is a point to that," Bryant says. "Although it would probably be best not to linger for too long in Lothering, regardless." 

I snort softly. "If the Grey Wardens are outlawed, perhaps I should just claim to be an apostate mage or something instead!" 

"Oh, so am I!" Morrigan adds cheerfully. 

Ser Bryant sighs and shakes his head. "My duty is to protect the innocent and helpless. I cannot spare the time to think about such things at the moment, regardless. Right now, there is nothing that seems to threatening these poor people but the encroaching darkspawn horde." 

"What about the bandits on the road?" I ask. 

"Are they back again?" Bryant says with a groan. 

"Yes and no," I say with a smirk. "We killed them." 

"It's true," says another templar. "I saw a storm of magic rain down upon the highway in the distance, but by the time my men and I got over there, the bandits were all dead and the mages had left the scene." 

"You have my gratitude, then," Bryant says. "Here, take this coin as repayment for your assistance." He passes over a jingling pouch toward me. 

I nod and pocket the money. "If there's anything else that us 'totally not Grey Wardens' random mages might do for you before we move on, let us know." 

"You could always check the Chanter's Board outside," Ser Bryant says. "Chanter Devons has posted some things that still need to be done, but capable fighters have been too busy to take care of yet." 

"I'll see what I can do," I say. 

I head out of the Chantry and look over the board. Well, if the Chantry wants me to kill more bandits and some wild animals, I can certainly handle that. Alistair comes out of the Chantry a little bit after and catches up to me. 

Alistair says, "Ser Donall says that Arl Eamon suddenly took ill, and that the knights of Redcliffe have been searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes in hopes of curing him. A desperate quest. How bad is it that their best hope is in chasing fables?" 

"What a terrible time for him to get sick," I say. "I wonder if the darkspawn had anything to do with it?" 

"I don't know," Alistair says, shaking his head. 

"Ser Bryant told me that Grey Wardens have been outlawed," I say. "We're going to pretend to be apostate mages instead. It's safer." 

Alistair looks at me incredulously, but Morrigan just laughs. 

"Was Loghain responsible for this, too?" Alistair says. 

I shrug. "He apparently accused the Grey Wardens of killing the king. Doesn't sound like many believe that story, though." 

"Can you still argue that he's really doing what's best for Ferelden _now_?" Alistair says. 

"I stand by that," I say. "Let's see if we can find Rispy. Maybe he's up in the tavern." 

Outside the tavern, a refugee man says to us, "Might not want to go in. The place is full up, no room, and now there's some drunken soldiers in there causing trouble." 

"We'll be careful. Thanks for the warning," I say, going to step inside. 

The tavern is, indeed, packed and filthy, a thick smell of alcohol and sweat filling the air, threatening to make my eyes water a bit. An armored man comes up to us when he sees us, a triumphant look on his face. 

"Well, look at this, men. Weren't we asking about two men matching these descriptions all morning? And everyone said they hadn't seen them. Do you suppose we were lied to, hmm?" 

"We just got here," I say. "We were still traveling through the wilds this morning. No need to accuse people of lying without cause." 

A red-haired Chantry sister steps in and says, "There's no need for trouble, my good men. I'm sure these are merely more poor, hapless souls seeking refuge from the darkspawn." 

"Don't you dare protect these traitors, sister. They're Grey Wardens! Them's murdered the king, they did!" 

"Nonsense," I say. "We're not Grey Wardens. We're merely a couple of apostate mages and a deserter. And a dog." 

The dog barks happily. 

"And a talking mouse," Mouse adds, not to be forgotten. 

The soldiers blink a little at that, but are clearly too drunk to question it. "No way! We were given a specific description of a mage with those weird green eyes of yours. You can't hide it!" 

"I'm sure plenty of people have green eyes," the sister says. 

"Sister, please stand back," I say. "It looks like these men want trouble, and there's no need for you to get hurt for our sakes. We can handle this." 

"Men!" the leader of the soldiers barks. "Arrest these Grey Wardens! Kill the sister and anyone else who tries to help them!" 

I sigh, and carefully call forth my magic against them. While cutting loose on the bandits felt good, these men are merely following orders and believe that they are doing the right thing. Even if they're doing it in a bit of an extreme way. Also, they're drunk. And idiots. I'm careful not to hit the Chantry sister, however, who joins into the fight, even unarmed. What is she trying to do, get herself killed? I spare a moment to put up some protective magic around her. 

I knock the commander down with a blast of lightning, and he lays on the ground stunned for a moment before gasping out, "We surrender! You win!" 

"Good," says the sister. "Now we can all stop fighting, and talk this over, shall we?" 

I give a nod, and gesture to my companions to stand down. I'm suddenly glad to have Morrigan by my side, rather than Gellert. For all of her snark and expressions of displeasure at some of the things I do, she seems disinclined to just kill people anyway even if I didn't want her to. 

"I want you to take a message to Loghain," I say. "Tell him that I trust that he's doing what is best for Ferelden." 

"Er, right. We'll go tell him. Right away!" The drunken soldiers hurriedly leave the tavern. 

The redhaired sister comes up to us once they're gone. "I'm sorry for interfering like that, but I could not just stand by when someone needed help." 

"That's alright," I say. "I was happy to protect you when you got caught up in things." 

"Protect me?" she says, sounding a little offended. "I can handle myself!" 

"Where does a sister learn to fight like that?" Alistair says. "I don't recall that being any part of Chantry meditations, and you're certainly no templar." 

"I haven't been in the Chantry my entire life. One might say that I had a bit of a more colorful life before then." 

"Colorful," I say. "Like red, and perhaps some black and blue as well?" 

"Ah, but I should be polite and introduce myself. I am Leliana. I was one of the lay sisters of the Chantry here in Lothering. But now I'm going to come along and help you Grey Wardens fight the darkspawn. You could use all the help you can get, am I right?" 

I shake my head. "No, no. Those soldiers had the wrong people. We're not Grey Wardens at all." 

"But..." Leliana says, then her eyes light up. "Oh, of course. How silly of me. Shall we move on, then, my completely unremarkable friend? Leave it to drunken soldiers to make a mistake like that!" 

I chuckle softly. "Not to complain or anything, but might I ask why you want to come along? It's going to be dangerous, with all the darkspawn around. Not that it's exactly going to be any safer staying here..." 

"The Maker told me to," Leliana says. 

"Oh," I say, a little dumbstruck. I have absolutely no idea what to say to something like that. 

"You don't believe me, do you," Leliana says. 

"I didn't say that. I'm just afraid I'm a little speechless." 

"Well, if the Maker told you to do something, you'd better go along with it, then," says Mouse. I can't tell whether he's being sarcastic or not. 

"So you do believe me, then?" 

"I don't see any reason not to, honestly," I say. "Welcome aboard." 

"Was your skull cracked that badly?" Morrigan says dryly to me. "Perhaps Mother should have looked you over a bit more before letting you travel." 

I ignore her comments. "So, Leliana, what kinds of weapons do you prefer?" 

"Daggers, or a bow," Leliana replies. 

"Okay," I say, and pull out a couple of enchanted daggers and a bow from my bag, and pass them over to her. "Not the best, perhaps, but it's what I've got on hand." 

"How did you fit those in that little bag?" Leliana wonders, taking the weapons. 

"Magic," I say, shrugging. 

"That bag must be _very_ useful," Leliana says. "How much can you fit in there?" 

"Quite a lot," I say with a grin. "I'll show you later." I go over to the barkeep and say, "Sorry about the mess." 

"At least those troublemakers are gone now," the barkeep says. "You don't plan on starting more trouble, do you?" 

I shake my head. "No, surely not. I just wanted to ask if you've seen a dwarf in here lately. He was supposed to meet me here." 

"A dwarf? Sword, mark on his face?" The barkeep takes a closer look at me. "Aye, he did say he was waiting for someone with eyes like yours. Lexen, wasn't it?" 

I smile. "Yes, that's me. So Rispy _is_ here?" 

"He's been staying here, yes. Don't think he's in right now, though. I hear he's been keeping company with the caged Qunari outside. Don't ask me why." 

I pass the man a silver for the trouble. "Thanks for the information. I'll go see if I can find him." 

"Head outside and take a right. If he's not there, not sure where he might be, but he'll probably be back tonight, I suppose." 

I head outside and follow the directions, and it doesn't take me long to come across a very tall man with gray-bronze skin and white hair, standing in a cage reciting words in a language I'm unfamiliar with. Sitting on a stone nearby, there's a dwarf with a short sword hanging from his belt, wearing leather armor. His right cheek is marked by an angular tattoo of some sort. 

"Lexen!" Rispy says brightly, leaping to his feet. 

"Rispy!" I say, beaming and going over to hug him. "It's good to see you again. Who's your new friend?" 

"This here is Sten," Rispy says, gesturing to the man in the cage. 

"What's he in for?" I wonder. 

"The Revered Mother said that he slaughtered an entire family, even the children," Leliana puts in. 

"She speaks the truth," Sten says. 

"I see," I say. "Well, that's no excuse for locking you up like this. If they felt that you deserved to die, they should have just killed you and been done with it." 

"Yes, I say that we should let him go, not simply leave him as prey for the darkspawn," Morrigan says. 

"I would have preferred to die in battle," Sten says. 

"Lexen, can we take him with us?" Rispy asks. 

"If that is what you wish, then so it shall be done," I say. 

"What purpose would freeing me serve?" Sten asks. 

"You wish an honorable death in battle, do you not?" I say. 

"I do." 

"Then as Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription," I say. "You can atone for your crimes in helping to fight against the Blight." 

"Would the Revered Mother release him for that?" Alistair asks. 

"I'm sure she would," Leliana says. "The Grey Wardens do have that right, and most of us do not believe Loghain's tales." 

"Grey Wardens?" Sten says. "Legends of the prowess of the Grey Wardens have reached even the ears of my own people." He looks at us critically. "Though perhaps not all legends are true." 

I smirk. "I shall let my prowess speak for itself. I will go and speak with the Revered Mother now." 

As we walk back toward the Chantry, Alistair says to me in a low voice, "You know we can't actually make him a full Grey Warden, don't you? We don't have the means to put him through the Joining." 

"I know," I say. "We'll just have to make do for now. And there's no reason that anyone else needs to know that." 

"Of course," Alistair says, nodding. 

We head into the Chantry and make our way into the back, to the Revered Mother's office. 

"Good day, Sister Leliana," says the Revered Mother. "I'm surprised to see that you are still in Lothering." 

"Not for much longer, Your Reverence," Leliana says. 

"And who might your companions be? I'm afraid do not recognize them." 

"They are new friends of mine," Leliana says. "I will be accompanying them when we leave town." 

"I see," the Revered Mother says, and turns to me. "Will you be making a donation to the Chantry? We are in desperate need, and you seem to have done better than others." 

"I already made a contribution," I say, gesturing vaguely toward the door. "I bought off all the food from that merchant outside to be distributed to the hungry." 

"Oh, my. Andraste smiles upon you, young man. The poor souls here will weep at your generosity." 

"I came to speak with you about Sten, the Qunari that you imprisoned," I say. "As Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, I am invoking the Right of Conscription, and ask that you release him into my custody in order to fight the darkspawn." 

"Grey Wardens? Here?" the Revered Mother says. "Oh dear. You put me in a difficult position. Fighting the Blight might be a form of atonement, but there would be too much trouble if we were seen to be cooperating with you." 

The pleasure I had at saying those words deflates at her reaction. "You don't seriously believe what was said about us, do you?" 

"What I believe is irrelevant," the Revered Mother says. "Some believe it, some do not. There is trouble enough in this town as it is without bringing more upon our doorstep. Now, I must ask you to be on your way. The most I can do to help you is to keep your presence quiet if you do not draw attention to yourselves." 

I give a short nod, and say, "Very well. I will go and take the Qunari, then." 

"I did not give you leave to take him. If you release him, _you_ will be responsible for the deaths of his next victims." 

"So be it, then," I say. "I wish no quarrel with you or this village, but I _must_ have aid against the Blight by any means necessary. I have invoked the Right of Conscription. The Grey Wardens have that right, whether you recognize it or not. You need not be seen cooperating with us. We will take the Qunari and be gone from this village quickly." 

The Revered Mother sighs, and looks to Leliana, "May the Maker watch over you, Sister Leliana. I hope you know what you are getting yourself into." 

Leliana nods and says, "I know good will come of this, Your Reverence. I'm sure of it." 

Once outside the Chantry, Mouse says, "How dare she refuse you. You should bring this Chantry down around her ears for having the gall to speak to you that way." 

"It's not worth the trouble," I murmur, glad for my compulsive casting of privacy charms almost constantly. I've gotten it down to the point where I cast them without even really thinking about it, most of the time. 

We head back to Sten's cage. Asking the Revered Mother was merely a formality. I do not need her blessing for this. I call upon my magic and let it course through the cage, and the door clatters open under its force. 

"So it is done," Sten says. "I will follow you into battle, Warden-Commander, and in so doing, I shall earn my atonement." 

I nod tersely, and say, "We'll need to get you some equipment. What sort of weapons do you prefer?" 

"A greatsword, if you have one available," Sten says with a hint of bitterness to his voice. 

"Alright." I pull out a large Chasind sword that I'd picked up in the Korcari Wilds and pass it over to him. 

Sten looks at me in surprise as he takes the sword. "Where were you keeping this?" 

"Enchanted bag," I reply simply, turning to head toward the Hawke house. "What about you, Rispy? Do you need anything?" 

"I think I'm good for now," Rispy says. 

"Alright," I say. "Once we're at the Hawke house, I'll pull out all the things I've picked up, and you guys can see if there's any other weapons or armor that you might like." 

"Do you actually have armor in there that would fit a dwarf or a kossith?" Sten asks. 

"Probably not, but I can always adjust the size of it if need be," I say. 

"You! It's them!" says a man standing before us along with several others. "I heard what those soldiers said. You're Grey Wardens! I don't know if you really killed the king, and Maker forgive me, I don't care. That bounty on your head could feed our families." 

"Are you aware that I bought out all the food off that merchant in front of the Chantry to be distributed to the hungry?" I say. 

That gives him a moment of pause. "It won't be enough, though. It won't last. I'm sorry, Warden. We must do what we must." 

"And so must I," I reply. 

"Attack!" 

"Do _not_ hurt them," I bark to my companions. 

I lift my hand, and point at each one of the refugees in turn, thinking _Stupefy. Stupefy, Stupefy, Stupefy._ Red light flashes over and over, and they all drop one by one. There's quite a lot of them, though, and I'm glad that the others can hold their own in a fight and have taken to heart my orders to stick to nonlethal combat. Even Morrigan is only using her magic to frighten them. 

"I don't see why you bother to spare them, if they are foolish enough to attack us," Morrigan says once they're all down. 

"Desperation drives people to do foolish things sometimes," I say. "But I will not choose to harm good people solely because they were desperate." I point to the man who spoke, and think _Rennervate_. 

"You... You spared us?" the man says as he comes to. 

"The others will wake soon," I say. "I didn't put much power behind that spell. I'm afraid there isn't much more I can offer you, but go with your lives, at least." 

"We do not deserve your mercy, ser," he murmurs. 

"It's not my place to decide who deserves what," I say. "May the Maker watch over you." 

I walk away, leaving him there and wanting to be gone before the others wake up, just in case they're foolish enough to try again. 

"You are a mage," Sten comments. 

"I am," I reply. "Will that be a problem, Warden?" 

Sten looks at me for a moment before replying, "No, Commander." 

We arrive at the Hawkes' house and step inside. It appears that in the past couple weeks, the enlarged space has been being used as shelter for refugees. It's a wonder that the Hawkes were willing to take this risk, but perhaps they believed that helping the refugees was worth it. 

Tom comes out and sees us enter, and says, "You found Rispy, I take it? And who are these others?" 

I make some quick introductions all around, and Tom leads us off to a side room. I pull out my full collection of weapons and armor from my bag and array them on a long table. 

"Take your pick, everyone," I say. "I'll transfigure anything to fit you as necessary." I thoughtfully pick up one of the swords and test out its weight and balance. "I think I'll put aside the robes myself, under the circumstances. I'll be more comfortable in armor and with a blade in my hand." 

"What kind of a mage _are_ you?" Alistair says, blinking at me. 

"An arcane warrior?" I suggest, shrugging. 

Unfortunately, I quickly discover that while my mind remembers plenty about how to fight with weapons and armor, my body isn't quite prepared for it. My years in the tower weren't so good for building up muscle. I decide to go with a light chain armor and a short sword for the moment, even though I would prefer a greatsword. 

Leliana has picked out a leather armor for herself, and she goes off into another room to change in private. Sten chose the heaviest armor that I've come across so far, and I helpfully adjust it magically so that it will fit his larger kossith proportions. Tom decides that he'd best get out of the robe as well, and returns to the clothing that he'd been wearing when I first encountered him. 

After everything is set for the moment, Tom, Rispy, and I head over to a room by ourselves for the night, and seal the door with spells to prevent any unwanted interruptions or eavesdropping. 

"Time for some catching up?" I say. "I hear you have quite the tale to tell, Rispy." 

"Indeed," Rispy says. 


	11. A Duster's Tale

My name is Rispy Brosca, in this life at least. I was born in Orzammar, in the bowels of Dust Town. Do you know what it's like in Dust Town? No, of course not. You've never been there, and I would suggest that you never visit there if you can possibly help it. 

Dust Town is a place where you can get lost and never come back. Down at the bottom of Orzammar, where the filth collects, dirt and dwarves alike. Worse than slaves, we're the casteless -- branded at birth so that we might never rise above our station. The dregs of dwarven society, descendants of criminals, including those who dared to commit the crime of coming to the surface. Is it any wonder that most dwarves who come to the surface never return? 

My father was one of those. I barely remember him. He made a break for the surface and never came back. And why should he? What was for him in Dust Town, but a wife and two children? 

But we lived, nonetheless. We survived, as only dusters can do. We worked for the Carta, for a man named Beraht. He prettied up my older sister to be a noble hunter, and attract some nobleman to fill up her belly with his son. 

Ah, that probably makes no sense to you. The castes in Orzammar are hereditary, you see. You get your caste from your same-sex parent. So if my sister, Rica, got stuffed up with a noble's son, then our entire family would have had our ticket out of Dust Town. They'd bring in the entire family, you see. Can't be admitting that a noble is related to dusters, after all. Can't acknowledge that we even exist, most of the time. 

And if Rica bore a daughter, no matter who the father might be, then we'd all have been screwed. Because a daughter would be just another brand, another casteless, and Beraht would probably dump her on the wayside. 

As for me, I did my work with a blade and fist. I was a thug for the Carta, doing Beraht's dirty work and trying to keep my mam and sister safe as best as I could. I was one of the best, a veritable king among ants, solely because I had real training. Most dusters just fight desperately any way they can, teaching each other dirty tricks and never actually learning any real techniques. They didn't have the memories of having been proud warriors in another life. 

Then came that day. That fateful fucking day, almost a month ago now. The day everything changed. 

It began like any other. Beraht came down to my family's hovel in Dust Town to berate my sister and give me my work for the day. 

"I've invested a lot in you already, and it's not paying out," Beraht told Rica. "I bought your clothes, paid for your voice and music lessons. You'd better have a patron within a week, or you're back out on the streets." 

"I do have someone who's interested," Rica replied. "I didn't want to say anything, since I'm not certain yet." 

"See, she's got someone," I said to Beraht. "Now get off her back already and give me my job for the day." 

"Leske's waiting for you outside," Beraht said. "He'll tell you what work I have worthy of scum like the two of you." 

Beraht was really doing this all so that he could claim to be a part of the family, another brother of the two of us, and get all the benefits of being elevated to noble caste himself. They don't keep records of us casteless, after all. They'd never be able to prove it otherwise if someone were to claim another as family. 

Once Beraht left the room, Rica said to me, "You shouldn't push your luck with him so much. He just thinks it's funny when you and Leske get vulgar." 

"I hate how he treats us," I said. "I wish I could just join the army and fight the darkspawn. I can fight as well as any of those sodding Warrior Caste, if not better." 

"They're not going to give us the chance, even if they're on the verge of being overwhelmed," Rica said. "Just be careful with Beraht. Unless you can find a way to defeat the darkspawn for good and become a Paragon, we still need him." 

"Maybe I will," I said. "Stranger things have happened." 

I went out to see Leske, passing by my drunken mother on the way. She was always drinking. Always trying to forget. That was nothing new. 

Leske's an old friend, if you can call it such. A comrade, if nothing else. We grew up in Dust Town together, and now we were working for the Carta together, busting skulls for a crime boss who didn't give a shit about us. 

Today, we had a job looking for someone Beraht thought was holding out on him. We found the man in Tapster's Tavern and dug up his story. He was doing lyrium trading on the side. 

"I've only got two nuggets on me, but you can have them! You sell them, make a tidy profit for yourself, maybe get out of this hole." 

"Are you mad, salroka?" Leske said to me. "If Beraht finds out what you're doing, you're dead." 

"You think I'd hold out on my best friend, too?" I said. "Fifty-fifty for the two of us." 

"Hmm, we could do that," Leske said. "I've a friend we can sell them to who won't go running to Beraht." 

"And what about me?" asked the surfacer merchant. 

"You run to the surface and don't come back," I said. "We'll tell Beraht you're dead, and if he ever finds out otherwise, we might just have to make it true." 

"Yes, of course. I'm going!" And with that he was gone. 

It was a risky business, but we took those two lyrium nuggets and sold them to Leske's friend. For far less than they were worth, but more money than most dusters will ever see, regardless. 

We made our way back to Beraht. He was talking to Jarvia when we walked in. She was his second in command, and rumor had it that they were in bed together in more ways than one. I told Beraht that the surfacer didn't have anything on him, and that we'd killed him ourselves. 

"Funny thing," Beraht said. "I had a cousin in Tapster's today. He said he saw something change hands, and then your mark walked out on his own two feet. Sounds like you took a bribe to let him go, doesn't it, Jarvia?" 

"And that's just not right," Jarvia said. 

I panicked for a moment, but I kept my cool, and was quick to sell him a cover story. "You think I'm stupid enough to kill someone in public like that?" I said. "We lured him over to the lava pits behind the mines. You won't be seeing him again." 

Thankfully, he bought the lie. "Ah, that's what I like about you two. I've got another job for you, in fact. Put those skills of yours to good use." 

Apparently, there was to be a Glory Proving that afternoon. Some people were betting on it, naturally. Leske and I were to make sure that a warrior named Everd wound up on the winner's sheet. 

"And when I say I have money riding on this," Beraht said, "I don't mean some pittance, like the value of your life! If Everd doesn't win this Proving, then you'd better make sure I don't see you or your sister again!" 

So he gave us a drug to slip into the water of the favored fighter, and a pass to get onto the Proving Grounds. I don't know how he managed to swing that last. The guard at the gates to that part of town wasn't very happy about letting casteless in, but he reluctantly let us in nonetheless, warning us to stay out of sight. 

It was easy enough to slip into the fighters' quarters. We found Everd's room quickly enough, only to discover that he was laying flat on the ground, smelling of alcohol. 

"Fuck, look at him," Leske said. "He's drunk enough that he'd lose a match against a practice dummy! What are we going to do now?" 

I looked at the babbling drunken warrior for a long moment. He was about my size. And I could fight as well as any of these self-righteous bastards. "I'll do it," I said. 

"What?" Leske said. 

"I'll put on Everd's armor and fight in his name. I'll win this fucking tournament myself." 

"Rispy, that's brilliant! If you keep the helmet on, they'll never see the brand on your face or realize that you're not actually Everd. We win, Beraht wins, and most importantly, Beraht doesn't kill us for fucking this up!" 

Of course, it could never be as easy as all that. Still, I was cocky. "And don't bother with the drug," I told Leske. "If I'm doing this, I'll win by skill alone." 

Leske looked impressed. "If it were anyone else, I'd have my doubts, but you I think can do it, salroka. You've a heart of steel. Good luck." 

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. Luck? He must have been wishing my doom with those words! Still, I put on the armor and grabbed Everd's weapons, and made my way to the arena. Everd was being called for his match, and there wasn't any time to lose. The finely crafted armor felt strange on me. It had been a long time since I'd worn real armor. But I remembered how to fight, and how to swing a real sword. 

I stepped out into the arena. The crowd roared around me, and I fought. I fought like I've never fought before, at least not in this life. One by one my opponents fell. The crowd was cheering for Everd, but they were really cheering for _me_. They were cheering for a brand, and they had no idea. 

"You honor me with this fight," I told them, and it felt right. _This_ was my proper place. Not the stinking pits of Dust Town. _This_ was what I was born for. 

And then, the real Everd stumbled out into the arena. "What's going on? Is it my bout already? Hey! That's my armor!" 

Fuck. I couldn't even trust Leske to make sure he stayed put, could I? 

"If that's Everd, then what imposter did I fight?" asked one of the competitors. 

"You!" the Proving Master called to me. "Remove your helmet! Let us all see your face!" 

They would probably execute me for dishonoring their Proving. But no matter. You'd know the minute I was killed, and I'd be able to go back far enough to change things just enough to get out of it. I wasn't worried. No, now, I thought, if I was going to go out, I'd do it in style. 

I took off my helmet and shouted, "I am Rispy! I am of no caste or clan, but I have defeated your greatest warriors!" 

"Casteless!" the Proving Master spit. "You insult this sacred tournament! You dishonor the ancestors with your very presence!" 

"You reject me and all I represent, but have I not earned my place here?" I demanded. 

They came for me, then, and I fought. I knew it was hopeless, but I wasn't going down without a fight. But sure enough, they overwhelmed me. 

* * *

I woke in a cell. I groaned, and I heard Leske's voice speaking to me. "About time you woke up. Did you have to put up such a fight?" 

"Yes," I replied. "Yes, I did. How'd you end up here?" 

"One of the guards recognized me," Leske said. "They figured we must have been working together." 

"Why did you let Everd wander out like that?" I asked. 

"You think I meant to? I couldn't hang around there, or they'd have caught me for sure!" 

"And now they caught us both. Great improvement," I said. "We've got to get out of here. My sister will be in danger. I can't just leave her to Beraht." 

"We've got other things to worry about, like our _own_ lives," Leske snapped. 

"Forgive me if I'm more concerned about my sister than myself," I said. 

Jarvia walked into the room and said, "Good. You're awake. Beraht will be glad to hear that. And don't think that means 'glad' in any way that's good for _you_. Your life is hardly worth the hundred sovereigns Beraht lost on that tournament. They declared the entire Proving invalid and called for an investigation! That was quite the mess you left, don't you think?" 

"So I take it I'm _not_ in a guard cell," I said. 

"Beraht claimed you," Jarvia said. "And he's the one who will get to watch you die slowly." 

"I think I've had just about enough of Beraht. Let him come. Let him see my face just before I kill him with my own bare hands." 

Jarvia left us again at that. I had to get out of there. I had to protect my sister. Somehow. 

There was a guard in the small cellblock. I rattled the door until he came over to complain at me. Then, before he could react, I grabbed him and slammed his head into the bars, and took the key from his body. 

"Come on, Leske, let's get out of here," I said, unlocking our cells. Thankfully, a chest containing our confiscated belongings wasn't far from our cells. We quickly put on our armor and weapons, such as they were, and made our way out of the cellblock. 

"It's going to be a fine trick getting away with this," Leske said. 

"I'm more worried about my sister," I said. 

"You can worry about your sister while we kill everyone between here and the exit," Leske replied. 

We fought our way through Beraht's thugs, trying to make our way out of his hideout. What? _No_ , I didn't stop to pick up everything along the way! I didn't still have my bag of holding. I sold it years ago during a desperate time, or my whole family would have starved. I didn't get half of what it was worth, no, but we survived, and that was all that mattered. And it beat selling my teeth. 

Then, in one room, I came upon Beraht himself. He was talking to two of his thugs. "I'm cutting Rica loose," Beraht was saying. "I don't need that idiot brother of hers, and I don't need the whore, either." 

"Really?" said one of the thugs. "I've been wanting to get a piece of her..." 

"Have at it, boys," Beraht said. "She's all yours." 

I didn't need to hear another word. I growled and charged at them with my sword. They fought back, but I was better. Before they knew it, the three of them were dead. 

"I don't believe it! That was incredible!" Leske said. "Beraht was all going 'Rawr!' at you, and you just fucking slaughtered them!" 

I quickly searched Beraht's corpse for anything of value and pocketed it. "Let's get out of here. I have to make sure Rica's alright." 

"Well, from the way they talked, she was still alive at least," Leske said. 

We made our way out of the hideout, up the secret passageway behind Beraht's shop, and out into the commons. We hardly stepped out onto the streets before a voice called out, "There he is! Arrest him!" 

"Leske," I said, hefting my weapon. " _Run_." 

He didn't need to be told twice. He made a break for it while I fought. I went down, but they didn't kill me. I was barely aware of being taken off to a cell, and then... back to the cell in the Carta hideout. Chained up, this time. And Jarvia wasn't about to give me a quick death. She wanted to keep me in there for a good, long time. 

Then, the world spun for a moment, and went dark. 

* * *

I woke in the cell again. But I was unchained. I'd gone back, back in time, back to have another chance at freedom. You must have died, I realized. I was elated. You would have gone back if I'd have died, but you'd have no way of knowing that I was being imprisoned. Not unless you stumbled upon the place by chance at some later point, and who knows how long that could have been? 

I broke out of my cell again, and Leske and I fought our way through Beraht's men, and once again I killed Beraht. Didn't feel any less good the second time than the first. 

"It wouldn't do for them to recognize us right out the door," I said. "Let's see if we can disguise ourselves." 

"Good idea, salroka," Leske said. 

We couldn't find any all-concealing helmets around, but some leather ones at least concealed our heads a bit, if not our face-brands. It would have to do. We headed out into the commons. 

I relaxed a little upon seeing that they didn't immediately recognize us. Good enough. I made my way quickly back home. I wanted to see Rica. I wanted to make sure she was alright. 

But Rica wasn't there. There was just Mother, passed out on the floor and smelling of booze, as usual. I stepped outside again, wondering frantically where Rica might be. That was when the Carta thugs descended upon us and dragged me away to that cell again. 

* * *

I woke in the cell. I didn't know how many more chances I was going to get, but I knew I had to find Rica and make sure she was alright, no matter what else happened. 

Again I escape from the cell, and with Leske at my side, I fight my way through the Carta thugs and kill Beraht. A quick disguise, and I tell Leske, "Let's split up. Lay low, and do what you must. I need to find Rica. Don't worry about me. Just live. Alright?" 

"Will do," Leske said. "Good luck, salroka." 

I headed out, relying on my crude leather helmet to keep anyone from recognizing me and locking me up again. There, I found her. Rica, my dear sister, near the Proving Grounds. 

"Rica!" I said. "It's me. I was so worried about you!" 

"Rispy!" she whispered. "Don't worry about me! I'll be alright. Remember that man I mentioned? My patron? He's going to move me and my mother into better quarters soon. We'll be alright." 

"You'll be alright without me?" I said quietly. 

"We'll be fine!" Rica insisted. "You'd better go, before Beraht catches you." 

"Beraht is dead," I said. "I killed him myself." 

"I can't say I'm sorry to hear that," Rica said. "But that won't make it any easier on either of us. My patron will protect me. You won't have that luxury, though. They'll want you dead for that stunt you pulled in the Proving." 

"I can't just leave you, Rica." 

"You can't help me now, Rispy. Get to the surface! You'll be safe there. They won't follow you there. They can't! You might want to watch out for any relatives of Beraht's, though." 

"I'll go," I said. "Be well, Rica." 

"There he is!" called a voice. Shit, I'd taken too long. I've been discovered. "That's the one! That's the brand who dishonored the Proving!" 

I turned to make a break for it, but again I was overwhelmed and dragged off to prison. 

* * *

I woke in the cell. I let out a heavy sigh. I couldn't keep doing this. Every chance might be my last. But at least I knew that Rica would be alright. She'd probably be better off without me. 

I broke out of the cell one more time. Leske and I fought our way through Beraht's thugs. One way or another, I'd never be one of Beraht's thugs ever again. That thought alone was heartening. Beraht died one final time. 

"Leske," I said. "Let's put on these helmets so that they don't recognize us instantly. And let's not leave at the same time. You go out first, and I'll come out later." 

"Good idea," Leske said, fitting the leather helmet over his head. 

"I'm going to make a break for the surface," I said. "Rica's got a patron who will protect her. Maybe you should try for it too." 

"What, the surface or the patron?" Leske said with a bark of laughter. "No, salroka. I'll be staying here, for good or ill. The surface is probably your best bet, though. I'm just an easily forgettable accomplice. You, however, publicly embarrassed the entire Warrior Caste. They'll stop at nothing but your blood." 

"Promise me you'll look out for Rica," I said. "If things don't work out with this patron of hers, you'll be all she's got left." 

"I promise," Leske said. "She'll be safe with me, salroka." 

I give a nod, and pass him a pouch of coin. "Take this. I'm going to collect what I can carry from here before I go. Farewell, Leske." 

"We had a good run," Leske said with a grin, and gave me a wave. "Farewell, Rispy." 

He left the hideout. I grabbed a pack to sling over my back and stuffed it full of whatever valuables I could scrounge up, and what food I could find. I knew I had a long road ahead of me. I even found some better clothes that could make me pass for a surface merchant. That seemed like my best bet. 

With a pack full of goods, I made my way to the gates of Orzammar. The guards stopped me, of course. I couldn't screw this up, though. I didn't know if I'd be getting another chance at it. Nervous as I was, I kept my cool, acting like I had every right to be where I was. 

"Going to the surface?" the guard said. They didn't seem to suspect me right away, at least. 

"Aye," I said. "Hopefully I'll get some good coin for my wares from the surfacers. They're paying good money for fine dwarven weaponry, what with the rumors of a Blight starting up." 

The guard nodded. "Be off with you, then, merchant. May the ancestors watch over you." 

And so I walked out the gates. No one else stopped me. No one harassed me. No one arrested me, or imprisoned me, or executed me. I was free. Free at last from this prison of stone. 

I stepped outside. _Outside_. Under the brightly shining sun, feeling the cool mountain breeze, breathing the fresh, clean air. It was cold, almost frigid compared to the sweltering, molten heat of Orzammar, but it felt absolutely wonderful. I was free. I was fucking free. 

A voice nearby said, "Contrary to popular belief down below, you're not going to fall into the sky up here." 

I looked over to see a surfacer dwarf, watching me with vague amusement. Was it that obvious that I'd never been to the surface before, at least not in this life, not in a very long time? 

"I know," I said. "I'm just glad to be out here again." 

I didn't want to risk anyone figuring out that I wasn't what I'd claimed to be. Not until I was much further away from the gates. I wouldn't put it against them making a quick jaunt outside just to drag me back in, at this point. I don't know if they actually would or not, but I hadn't survived twelve years in Dust Town without being paranoid. 

"Maker, yes!" said the surfacer. "That's why I sleep out here, whenever I come to make deliveries and pick up new wares. I don't know how they can _breathe_ in there." 

"Where are you heading next from here?" I asked. 

"To Kinloch Hold, with a shipment of lyrium for the Circle of Magi," he said. 

"I'm going there, too," I said. "Mind if I come along? I know how to fight, in case we get attacked by bandits or darkspawn." 

"I'd be glad to have another hand along, especially one that can wield a sword." 

And so, with that, I left Orzammar behind. I didn't know where to go, aside from a message years ago that you were in the tower. I had no way of knowing whether or not you were even still there. But it was as good a place as any to start, and it would get me far, far away from Orzammar. 

And the dwarves! The surfacer dwarves were friendly and welcoming to me, treating me as an equal and giving me appreciation for protecting their wares from bandits. They didn't care that I was born in Dust Town. That meant nothing to them. There are no castes on the surface. Everyone up here are simply dwarves. 

I met up with Gellert in Kinloch Hold, and learned that you'd already left, the very day I did, in fact. He said you'd been through your Harrowing on that day, and how particularly badly you'd done at it. I won't mock you over it. If I hadn't had as many chances as I did, I might have been trapped under that wretched city with little hope of escape. Imprisonment is worse than death by far. 

So, I headed south, since it sounded like you were the one out having real adventures while Gellert sat around in a library reading. Strange fellow. I passed through Redcliffe, and heard about how the arl had taken ill. 

I arrived in Lothering, and here I met Sten. I spent a lot of time speaking with him, and learned a bit about his culture. You know, if I'd been born among the Qunari, there wouldn't have been any question about whether I could be a warrior or not. I would have been able to be what I was born to be, without hesitation. 

But there's no use in bemoaning where I was born, and I'm hardly going to complain about what I am. I've been a servile, a house-elf, and now a dwarf. A brand, a duster, _casteless_. In each life I've lived, I've been born into a group that has been downtrodden, enslaved, that thinks there is little hope of ever being free. And as always before, I will fight for their freedom. 

Freedom for all beings. Light in the darkness. I don't know how I might do it, but I will find a way. I will break the chains and tear down the walls, and _no one_ will stand in my way. 


	12. Calling on Spirits

"Quite the story, Rispy," I say with a grin. 

"Heh," Rispy says. "My soul might be bound to yours, but we are united in our goals. This is _my_ story, too." 

"Indeed it is," I say. 

We spend the next day in Lothering, making preparations to leave and doing a few jobs for the Chanter's board. It's a good exercise for me to be using a sword again as well. I remember how to use one, but I'm out of practice, and my muscles aren't used to being used in this way. What I would give for some physical augmentations... 

On the upside, no one seems to recognize me wearing chainmail instead of a robe, and we keep Sten in the house for the moment to avoid any unwanted attention. 

"It probably won't be safe to stay here when we're gone," Bethany is telling the refugees. 

"I've put enchantments over the house to make it so it won't be found easily," Tom says. "But even if that keeps the darkspawn out forever, the food won't hold out forever, and you'd wind up being trapped here when the horde comes. It would be best to move on." 

"But where are we go to?" 

"I don't know," Tom says. "That's up to you. Head north into the Bannorn, or east to Denerim. My group is heading west to Redcliffe. If you want to come with us, we can try to protect you, but I can make no guarantees." 

The refugees scatter, although a good half-dozen of them, two women with four children of varying ages, decide to take their chances with us. 

"We are leaving?" Sten asks as we prepare to go. 

I nod to him. "We're evacuating these noncombatants to Redcliffe. Keep them safe, and be alert for darkspawn." 

I give orders, and we arrange our group to best protect the civilians. I take point, Bethany brings up the rear, Tom and Morrigan take positions to either side, and the warriors follow behind me. 

As we're leaving Lothering, I hear a voice call out, "Help! Will someone help us? Darkspawn!" 

I gesture to my companions to attack, and we charge forward. A dozen darkspawn are threatening a pair of dwarves, merchants by the looks of them. Between our magic and blades, the darkspawn are quickly eliminated. 

"Much obliged," says one of the dwarves. "Thank you for your timely rescue. I'm Bodahn Feddic, and this is my boy, Sandal. Say hello, Sandal." 

"Hello," says Sandal. 

"Glad I could help," I say, glancing back as the others catch up to us. "The road's pretty dangerous these days for you to be traveling on your own. If you're heading to Redcliffe, you can come along with our group if you like." 

"Sounds like you've got an exciting path ahead of you, but much safer to be with such a well-armed group, what with all the darkspawn about," Bodahn says. "If you'll give us a moment to gather up what we can of our wares, we'll be happy to join you." 

"Of course," I say, and turn to my companions. "Let's give them a hand, shall we?" 

"I am going to scout around to make sure there aren't anymore of those creatures nearby," Morrigan says. 

I nod to her, and she transforms into a crow before my eyes and takes off to fly around the area. I blink for a moment. That, I hadn't expected. I had not encountered any Animagi in Thedas, and had assumed that the talent was unknown here. That's a pleasant surprise, actually. Maybe it's just unknown among the Circle of Magi, and hedge witches like Morrigan and Flemeth have kept it alive. Having someone around who can turn into a bird will prove very useful, I think. 

I turn to help collect Bodahn's belongings. As many of the items from the destroyed carts vanish into mine and Tom's bags of holding, Bodahn looks to me and says, "Say, that's quite a handy pouch you have there. How much would it cost a humble merchant like me to get his hands on something like that?" 

I chuckle. "More than you can afford, no doubt, as neither Tom nor I will be parting with ours. They're very hard to make. There's two more in existence that I know of, one of which is in the Circle Tower. You might be able to bribe the owner of that one with enough books, but I doubt that as well. The other, I have no idea where it might be now." 

"I'll keep an eye out, nonetheless," Bodahn says. 

Morrigan returns as we're finishing up, and shifts back into human form. "There are many darkspawn in the direction that we wish to go. I do not believe that we will be able to get through them without fighting, but we may be able to evade at least some of them." 

"Good enough," I say. "Let's go." 

We set off to the west. I keep alert for the sensation of darkspawn encroaching on our location so that we might be able to avoid the bulk of the horde. Occasionally Morrigan transforms into a crow to scout the area from above and get a better view of the big picture. 

After fighting our way through several smaller groups of darkspawn, I hear a human voice in the distance ringing out amidst the guttural rumbles of the horde. A woman's voice, sharp and defiant. 

"Someone's in trouble," I say. "Come on!" 

We cut a path through the darkspawn ahead of us with blade and spell, and come upon a woman armed like a soldier, and a man in templar armor half-laying on the ground nearby. The templar painfully pulls himself to his feet before us. 

"Apostates..." the templar says, weakly gesturing to us. "Come no closer!" 

"A templar? Here? The Maker clearly has a sense of humor," Tom says quietly as my side. 

"We're not apostates," I say. "We're Grey Wardens. Unless, of course, you believe Loghain and think that the Grey Wardens are apparently the most suicidal murderers in history, in which case we are clearly Circle Mages who survived Ostagar and are heading home to the tower now." 

"Grey Wardens?" the woman says. "Thank the Maker. I thought they all died at Ostagar." 

"Some of us survived," I say. "And we've been recruiting help to fight the Blight. Ostagar was a terrible blow, but we're still fighting. I am Lexen, now Warden-Commander with the death of the previous one." 

"I am Aveline Vallen, and this is my husband, Ser Wesley." 

"Can you fight?" I ask. "We're evacuating these civilians to Redcliffe, and the horde certainly isn't making it easy on us." 

"I can," Aveline replies, looking over at her husband and trying to steady him. "Wesley is badly hurt, however." 

I cast healing magic at him to try to improve his condition, but it can only do so much. "If you can't fight, then go back with the noncombatants. We will protect you." 

"Thank you," Wesley says, stumbling back with the women and children. "Maker's blessings upon you, Wardens." 

We continue on, and make it a fair ways further before setting camp for the night. I put up the tent and get everyone inside who isn't out keeping watch. I head back to check out Wesley, who hasn't gone in yet. Aveline is tending to him, mopping at his forehead with a damp cloth. Dark veins cover his face, and he coughs. 

"What's wrong with him?" I ask. 

"It's the blight sickness," Alistair says, coming up behind him, shaking his head. "There's no help for him, I think." 

"You're Grey Wardens," Aveline says. "Aren't Grey Wardens supposed to be immune to the taint? Can't you make him one, too?" 

"Would if we could," I say. "I'm afraid we don't have the means to put him through the Joining right now." 

"Then there's no hope for him?" Aveline says desperately. 

"Aveline..." Wesley says pleadingly. "If they can't help me, then... do what you must. Please. Before it's too late." 

"There's no need to be hasty," says Tom, approaching. "I've been corresponding with a friend at the Circle Tower, and we've been working on a cure for the darkspawn taint." 

"There is no cure for the taint," Alistair says. 

Tom snorts softly. "Nothing exists until it comes into existence, does it? Just because one hasn't been found yet doesn't mean that it's impossible." 

"So you think you have a cure?" Aveline asks, a look in her eyes as though she hardly dares to hope. 

"I don't know yet," Tom says. "We have an idea. I don't know if it will work or not. It has not been tested yet." 

"If there's any chance, then we have to try it," Aveline says. 

"If it might save others in the future, then you may test your idea upon me," Wesley says quietly, coughing some more. "Should I die, perhaps you will learn enough from it to make it work." 

Tom gives a nod. "Alright. It would help if we could perform the ritual at a node, but we don't have time to get him to one, I think. For the best chance, we should perform the ritual at dawn, and have Bethany lead it. Do you think you can hold out until then?" 

"Won't he just get worse if it's left alone?" Aveline asks. 

"It's either dawn with Bethany, or midnight with me," Tom says. "I assumed you would prefer light magic, but if you will settle for dark, then it can be done at midnight." 

"You... are a maleficar?" Wesley says. "You admit to this?" 

"We're Grey Wardens," I put in firmly. "Grey Wardens are permitted to use whatever magic is necessary to fight the darkspawn, and only the darkspawn." 

"I don't make it a habit of consorting with demons, if that's what you're afraid of," Tom says, not looking at Mouse, who is thankfully being quiet at the moment. Asleep, from the looks of things. 

"I am not in a position to debate the point at the moment," Wesley rasps. "But I will prefer to wait for dawn, then. I believe I can hold out that long, at least." 

Tom nods tersely. "I will make the preparations and let Bethany know what she will need to do." He heads off to find his sister inside the tent. 

"See if you can get him inside and make him comfortable, at least," I say. "There's plenty of room in the tent for everyone." 

"I don't see how you can fit everyone in there," Aveline says. "It doesn't look like that large of a tent." 

"It's an enchanted tent," I say simply. "It's bigger on the inside." 

"I've never heard of such magic," Aveline says. 

I chuckle. "Well, now you have." 

As I move away from the sick templar, Alistair says to me quietly, "Do you really think you can cure him?" 

"I don't know," I say. 

"It just seems cruel to give them false hope, if this isn't going to work." 

"Well, we won't know until we try, now will we?" I say. "I know a ritual that can drive out demons, but I've never dealt with the darkspawn taint so closely before." 

Alistair blinks. "I didn't think getting rid of demons was possible, either, short of killing the abomination." 

I chuckle softly. "There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 

"What?" Alistair says dumbly. 

"Never mind," I say with a grin. "I don't expect you to recognize the words of the old Bard." 

I head over to where Morrigan has set up watch a ways away from the tent. Her golden eyes shimmer against the darkness like a cat's as she gazes off watchfully for any signs of enemies, darkspawn or otherwise. 

"Do you need something?" Morrigan asks. 

"I just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind," I say. 

"If you must," Morrigan says. "I don't constantly ask you prying questions, though." 

I shrug. "You can feel free to, if you like. I'm hardly going to mock you for it or anything. There must be many things that are confusing to you, if you grew up in the wilds." 

"This is true," Morrigan says. "Like the touching! Why must people wish to touch my hand simply to greet me? It is an unwelcome intrusion." 

"I really don't know," I say. "I much prefer nodding or bowing, myself." 

"I see," Morrigan says, nodding. "So what did you wish to ask me?" 

"I was wondering about your shapeshifting ability," I say. "Is that sort of thing common knowledge outside of the Circle of Magi?" 

"Perhaps not common, but there are traditions in the wilds among the free mages that that Circle of yours knows nothing of," Morrigan replies. "If you have not heard of them, then that is your loss. I do not see how you could stand living in that tower as it was. Did you never feel like a caged bird, forbidden to fly?" 

I give a nod. "Very much so. Trapped in a gilded cage full of books, but a cage nonetheless, and I was glad to take the best opportunity that came in order to escape from it." 

"It seems strange to hear that from a Circle mage such as yourself," Morrigan says. "Are there many in the tower who think like that, who wish for their freedom?" 

I let out a sigh and pull my knees to my chest. "Some are content with the place they have, what safety they might have sacrificed their freedom for. But yes, I'm hardly the only one who ever wished for freedom. And I believe that everyone should be free. No one should be a prisoner or a slave." 

"That is... refreshing to hear, I think," Morrigan says. "I could not imagine that people would wish to be in such a position. Even I, free in the wilds as I was, wished to see and experience things that I had not. I want to feel the wind in the mountains, smell an ocean, walk amidst a city..." 

I smile at her. "You'll get the chance. I'll make sure of that." 

"Tis kind of you to promise that. But enough of that. What did you wish to know of my skills?" 

"I was curious, mainly," I say. "It's not that I haven't heard of people who could change their shape. Just that I never heard mention of it while in the tower. Before I came to the tower, I knew a man who could turn into a dog, for instance." 

"Just a dog?" Morrigan says. "It seems a waste to go to the trouble of learning the spells to change one's form, only to use but a single form." 

"You can take on multiple forms?" I ask, eyes widening in surprise. 

"Certainly. I can fly with the birds, or run with the wolves, scurry amongst the trees as a squirrel... I have studied many of the animals of the wilds, and can take on their shapes." 

This clearly must be a little different from the Animagus transformation, then. Or is it? I don't know. I never learned to become an Animagus. Maybe they go about things in a different way, or maybe they're imposing limitations upon themselves that are, in actuality, unnecessary. 

"So, can anyone learn to do this?" I wonder. 

"Anyone with magic, of course," Morrigan says. "As it is a spell, it cannot be done by someone who is not a mage." 

"Of course," I say. 

"And if you are asking me if I would teach you how to do it, then no, I am not so inclined right now," Morrigan says. "I hardly even know you, and I do not trust you with all of my secrets as of yet. Perhaps in the future." 

I chuckle. "I understand. I don't even know if I could manage it, regardless." 

"I know not how incompetent you may be at any sort of magic that does not involve blasting enemies with lightning," Morrigan says. 

I laugh lightly. "Oh, believe me, the lightning comes as naturally to me as breathing, but the rest, I had to work for." I stand up again and absently _Scourgify_ myself. "I'm heading in for a nap. Do speak up if there's anything I might be able to answer. And if I don't know it, Tom probably does." 

"I shall keep that in mind, should I have the desire to annoy you with inane questions," Morrigan says. 

Chuckling again, I go in to rest. I want to at least get a few hours of sleep, as well as have to repeat as little time as possible just in case something goes horribly wrong in the ritual for Wesley. I doubt it will actually kill Tom or Bethany, and I'm not so concerned about the life of a templar that I'm willing to reset to save him specifically, but I'm nothing if not paranoid. I have no idea just what Tom and Gellert have been cooking up. 

As dawn approaches, I wake, and I help Aveline get Wesley out to a small clearing nearby where he and Bethany have set up runes and bowls of sparkling, clean water for the ritual. Does Tom normally carry around seven silver bowls in his bag? 

"Get Morrigan, too," Tom says. "We're going to need all the magic we can get." 

I give a nod, and go back into the tent to rouse her. "Morrigan? Sorry to disturb you, but we need you for the ritual." 

Morrigan grumbles unhappily. "What is it that you speak of? Leave me alone. I am trying to sleep." 

"The ritual, to try to cure that templar?" I say. 

"Why should I care about the templar?" 

I sigh. "Tom requested your presence." 

Morrigan snorts softly and slowly rolls out of bed. "Well if _Tom_ wishes me there, who am I to refuse? Regardless, my rest has already been disturbed and I am unlikely to find more this morning." 

"Sorry," I say. "I owe you one, and I'll make it up to you." 

"Oh, very well," Morrigan says. "Come, if we are to do this, then let us do this. It needs to take place at dawn, does it not?" 

I nod, and lead her out to the clearing. It's a crisp, chilly morning, and this particular spot of wilderness is so far clear from darkspawn incursion. For how much longer is anyone's guess, but at least we are not in immediate danger, so far as I can tell. Morrigan, however, still takes a moment to scout around in bird form to ensure that no offshoots of the horde are coming this way. 

"He doesn't look good," Alistair says. "He must be halfway to a ghoul already." 

He must have arrived while I was going to fetch Morrigan. I don't know why he feels the need to be present. It's not like he's a mage and will be able to do anything to assist, but he's perfectly free to watch if he's so inclined, I suppose. 

"I hope this works," Bethany murmurs. 

"Alright," Tom says. "We are going to be attempting a modified Ritual of Purification." 

Mouse stirs and wiggles out of my pocket. "Oh, I _so_ don't want to be in this circle." He scurries away to watch from a safe distance. 

"I do not know how this will affect the darkspawn taint," Tom says. "Although any demons in the circle will not find this particularly pleasant." 

Mouse decides to increase that safe distance by another ten meters, just in case. Aveline goes over to stand by Alistair, and the four mages take up positions around Wesley, with Bethany at his head. 

"Actually, Aveline, Alistair, if you would stand to either side of Bethany?" Tom says, gesturing to them. "You're not mages and so can't help with that directly, but seven is a good number." 

The two of them nod uncertainly and go over to stand in position. Wesley is barely conscious, his face etched with black lines, his eyes milky when he opens them half deliriously. I can only imagine that he must be hearing the call of the archdemon and resisting with all his will. 

"It's time," Tom says, looking up to the lightening gray sky. "Bethany, you may begin." 

Bethany nods, and raises her hands, chanting in some long-forgotten tongue doubtless coached to her by Tom over the night before. A wave of pure energy waves over me, causing my skin to tingle and the hairs on my arms to stand on end. A slowly building light surrounds us, and sunbeams spring up over each of the silver bowls in the circle. 

Then, Tom says, "Now, let us each call upon the virtue that is most dear to our hearts. I call upon Love!" A light seems to surround him at that. He looks to his left, to Morrigan. 

"I call on Freedom," Morrigan says, lighting up herself. 

"I call on Hope," I say after a moment, not wanting to repeat what Morrigan just said. A bolstering presence seems to fill me. 

"I call on Duty," Aveline says. 

"I call on Compassion," Bethany says. 

Alistair hesitates for a moment before saying, "I call on Courage." 

"Wesley," Tom says quietly, putting a hand on his arm. Wesley groans and doesn't answer. "Wesley, you must speak. Call upon what you value most." 

"I..." Wesley rasps, looking up blankly at the cold, slate gray sky overhead. "I call... I call upon Honor!" 

Light crashes down around us and surrounds Wesley with such a force that it almost knocks me off my feet. For a moment, it's almost painful to look at. 

And then, the archdemon turns her attention toward me. I feel her in my mind, bearing down on me, and I do fall backwards now. She knows _exactly_ where I am at this moment, and she is _angry_. 

"Fuck," I mutter, rubbing my head and standing up. 

"Did you feel that, Lexen?" Alistair says, scrambling to his feet. 

"We've got to get moving," I say, peering about. "Darkspawn will be converging upon this position soon." 

Alistair nods and says, "I'll get everyone up and moving." He hurries back to the tent. 

I'm exhausted, drained of mana from the exertion of that ritual. I pull out a lyrium potion and drink it down, and hand another one to Morrigan. Tom does likewise and provides one for Bethany. 

"Wesley," Aveline says, putting her arms around him. "Wesley, how are you feeling?" 

Wesley stumbles to his feet with her help. "Still weak, tired... but better. Better." 

I can feel darkspawn tugging at the edges of my senses. "They're coming." 

I rush over to the tent, where Alistair is herding out the children. They're tired themselves at being suddenly roused. They can get a good night's sleep when they're safe from the Blight. 

"Is everyone out?" I ask. 

"Looks like that's the last of them," Alistair says. 

I nod and collapse the tent and put it away. I'm not going to lose the tent this early in our adventures if I can possibly help it. The morning echoes with the growls and cries of darkspawn. 

"Move!" I shout. "Go, go, go!" 

I send a storm of lightning down upon the approaching horde to give them some breathing room to make their escape. 

"Lexen," says Tom, stepping up beside me. "If we die here, we can't repeat that ritual. It _must_ be done at dawn, and Wesley won't make another day. And the lyrium helps, but even with it, we won't have the energy to do it again. Bethany and Morrigan probably won't be enough to do it on their own." 

"Shit," I murmur. 

"Is the templar really worth it?" asks Mouse. When he got back into my pocket after the ritual, I'm not sure. 

"This is hardly the time for philosophical questions on the value of life!" I snap. "In my eyes, _every_ life is precious! If I can save a life, then I _will_ save a life!" 

Tom and I are backing away from the horde, picking off darkspawn with our magic. Leliana drops a few of them with her bow as well, and the warriors cut down any that get too close. 

"Fine. I see how it is. You don't actually care about the templar, but you are too proud to let anyone die on your watch if you can help it," Mouse says, dropping to the ground. "Tell your companions to flee and not to look back. I'll cover you." 

I stare at the little mouse for a moment. 

"Go!" Mouse rumbles, eyes suddenly glowing purple-red. 

I turn to my companions, canceling the privacy spell Tom put up, and shout, "Break and retreat, all! Don't look back! I'm casting a spell that will let us make our escape!" 

They turn to flee, and I raise my hand and think, _Fumos_. A thick cloud of smoke fills the air as the mouse transforms into a massive pride demon. 

"Thank you," I say quietly, sending forth one last tempest. 

The pride demon snorts. "Don't thank me. You can show your appreciation by keeping letting me feed on your pride. Now go! You will need to resummon me once you reach Redcliffe." 

"We will," I promise with a grin, and turn to race after the others, bringing up the rear and shooting off lightning bolts to pick off any stragglers that get past the demon. 

It's a headlong run, but we eventually get far enough away that I can no longer sense the darkspawn. We're all tired by that point, and slow down to a more sustainable pace. I sensed the destruction of the pride demon's physical form along the way, but he did his job well, and as a demon, it's not like he's really dead anyway. 

As we travel, Alistair approaches me and says quietly, "I saw what you did there." 

"Hmm?" I say. 

"You cast that smoke spell so that the others wouldn't see that you _summoned a demon_ to fight the darkspawn," Alistair hisses. 

Not quite, but close enough, I suppose. "We're Grey Wardens," I reply. "Anything to fight the darkspawn, right? Duncan told me as much himself. And it worked, didn't it?" 

Alistair sighs. "It's a dangerous game you play, Lexen. They don't always help, you know. How can you be sure you won't end up possessed, or that a demon won't attack us instead?" 

"If I _hadn't_ done what I did, we _would have all been killed_. Women and children, too. Under the circumstances, I'd think it was worth the risk." 

"Fine," Alistair says. "I don't like it, but fine. Anything to fight the darkspawn." He doesn't sound very convinced or enthusiastic about that. "I won't tell Wesley, but I'm keeping an eye on you, however." 

"If it makes you feel better," I say with a shrug. "It might be better to keep an eye on the darkspawn instead, though." 


	13. Redcliffe

I run on lyrium the entire day, and even as we finally approach Redcliffe the next afternoon, I'm just really looking forward to a chance to rest for a few days. 

At least we got what we paid for with regards to Wesley. He's still weak, but his condition has been steadily improving, and he even insisted on helping to fight off the last group of darkspawn we encountered. I couldn't complain, seeing as by that point I'd resorted to using my sword to conserve my own energy. At least that's using different parts of my body than the ones that are screaming about burning too much magic through them. 

I've discovered, unfortunately, that while lyrium is good for a quick boost of magic, it does nothing to sustain physical energy. And using magic to keep one's body going, after a while, becomes more harmful than it is helpful. I'm just plain exhausted, mentally, physically, and magically. I need rest, but with the nightmares hanging on my head, even if I had a chance to sleep for a week, I doubt it would help much. 

"Lexen, we need to talk," Alistair says, coming up to point beside me. 

I flick up a privacy spell and say, "This isn't about the demon again, is it?" 

"What? No," Alistair says. "It's just, well, I was raised in Redcliffe, you know? There's some things you should know about me if we're going there, because it's probably going to come up. I should have mentioned it sooner, I suppose." 

"Well, now's as good a time as any," I say, shrugging. 

"I don't think I've told you yet. I was raised at the Chantry when I was old enough and trained to be a templar and all, but my mother had been a serving girl at Redcliffe Castle," Alistair goes on. "My father, well. My father was King Maric. Which would make me Cailan's half-brother." 

"Okay," I say. 

"What? Just... okay?" Alistair says. 

I shrug. "Yeah. What of it?" 

"Everyone who knew either resented me for it, or coddled me," Alistair says. "I didn't want you and the others to know for as long as possible." 

"Well, let's make this quick, then." I point at my throat and think _Sonorus_ , and turn to the others to speak in an amplified voice, "Important announcement: Alistair is a royal bastard. That is all." 

There's a smattering of applause, mainly from Tom and Morrigan, and Alistair flushes. "You didn't have to do that. Although... Well, I suppose now I can use that line more often." 

I absently cancel the amplification spell and turn back to Alistair. "Now, it's not like I'm going to care, but thanks for telling me, I suppose. You probably don't want to know that _I'm_ descended from mage lords in a distant land." 

"You're related to Tevinter magisters?" Alistair says, eyes widening a bit. "Well, that would explain the... yeah." 

Not quite, but close enough. I shrug absently. "Not like I've seen them in years, nor can I ever go back, anyway. There was one... one magister who went out of his way to wipe out my entire family out of some old, petty grudge. I was the only one who escaped, and I was just a little boy. If he were to learn that I'm still alive? It would be bad. Very bad." 

"I see," Alistair says. "I wonder if anyone else is hiding an interesting past, then?" 

"Certainly," I say. "But I'll not speculate, and I'll leave that to them." 

"So, you can just go back to thinking I'm nobody important?" Alistair says. "And not some prince or something?" 

"What, afraid that I'm going to think you should be heir to the throne now that your brother is dead?" I say. "Oh, come on. You'd be the first person to admit that you'd make a terrible king." 

"Well, that's reassuring, I think," Alistair says. "No, if anyone should make a claim for the throne, it would be Arl Eamon. But if he's really as sick as they say he is..." 

"Then we perform a miracle," I say. "If we're not too late already, at least." 

"Don't say things like that," Alistair says. 

"Sorry," I say. "Let's go. One way or another, we need to find out what the situation is in Redcliffe." 

"Right, of course." 

We head down the path toward Redcliffe. From atop the cliff, I can see the town below, nestled along the southern shores of Lake Calenhad. Maybe if I squint, I might be able to see Kinloch Hold in the distance across that lake. Probably not, though. It's a few days travel to the north along the eastern shore, and there's a heavy mist hanging over the lake. 

As we cross a bridge heading into town, a man with a bow comes up to us. "Travelers, have you come to help us?" 

"We've come to help the arl if we can," I say. "We heard he'd taken ill." 

"There's more to it than that. He could be dead, for all we know. There has been no word from the castle in days. And every night, these creatures keep coming out and attacking us. They're relentless, and so many of us have died already, and I fear it will only get worse." 

"What sort of creatures?" Tom asks. 

"I-- I don't rightly know what they are." 

"Then give me a description of them, and perhaps I can tell you," Tom says with forced patience. 

"They look like men, at least they have a head and the same number of limbs. They don't bleed, and they don't stop trying to fight back until they've been chopped to pieces. It's horrible. What are they? Are they darkspawn?" 

Tom shakes his head. "Not darkspawn. Undead, I believe." 

"How did this happen?" Alistair wonders. 

"We don't know," the archer says. "Please, can you help us?" 

Leandra, Tom's mother, comes up behind us and says, "We came here seeking refuge. Is it not safe here, either?" 

"There is no safety to be found here," the archer says. 

"Don't worry, Mum," Tom says. "We'll keep you safe, nonetheless, one way or another." 

"With the arl sick, who is in charge here at the moment?" I ask. 

"Bann Teagan, Arl Eamon's brother and the bann of Rainesfaire, is here. I can take you to him. He's just down the hill, inside the Chantry." 

I give a nod. "To the Chantry, then." 

The archer leads us off down the hill, and I gesture to the others to follow. In my mind, however, weariness presses down heavily upon me. There will be no rest for me here, either. 

The man that we're introduced to as Bann Teagan looks pretty weary, himself. His beard, clearly neatly cropped not so long ago, is scraggly from lack of time to tend it. Bags are under his eyes from worry and restlessness. I don't envy the position he's found himself in. 

"Strangers, travelers have come?" Bann Teagan says. "Are you here to help? Many of you look like refugees yourselves." 

"Indeed," I say. "We evacuated these people from Lothering in hopes that they'd be safer here, but it seems that isn't the case. Still, I promised them that we'd protect them until we could get them to safety, and so we shall." 

"Bann Teagan, it's good to see you again," Alistair says. "Although you probably don't remember me. It's been a long time, and I was covered in mud the last time you saw me." 

"Covered in mud? Alistair, is that you? I'd believed that all the Grey Wardens had died at Ostagar." 

"No, we didn't," I say. "I'm Lexen, and I've taken up the mantle of Warden-Commander and have been recruiting help to stop the Blight." I gesture toward my companions. "Ostagar was a major setback, but there's still a Blight to be fought, and we Grey Wardens will still fight it however we can." 

"That is very good news indeed," Bann Teagan says. "I fear things have been bad here, and not because of the darkspawn." 

"When did this all start?" Rispy says. "I came through here not two weeks ago, and aside from the arl being sick, everything seemed fine then." 

"Just a few days ago," Teagan says. "And it has been worse every night. If this keeps up, there's no way we will be able to hold off tonight's assault." 

"They've been bolstering their numbers with your dead, most likely," Tom says. "Have you not been burning the corpses to curtail that?" 

Teagan sighs. "We didn't know how to fight them, aside from beating them back desperately. We've never seen anything like this before." 

"We will help you fight," I say. "With our help, we will be able to stop them and prevent anymore damage from being done." 

"Must we stop and solve everyone's problems for them?" Morrigan says. 

"There are no darkspawn here," Sten says. "What have we to gain from this?" 

"Allies, and an outpost against the Blight," I reply. "Both of which we desperately need." 

Tom leans over to Morrigan and says quietly, "He's got a bit of a saving people thing. You get used to it. I just go along with it, although I think it's amusing, especially when he turns around and starts slaughtering things." 

"I still think that this is unwise," Sten says. 

"Your opinion has been noted, Warden," I say firmly. "Now, we must prepare for battle. We have a few hours until they show up again, Bann Teagan?" 

"Yes, they always appear at nightfall." 

I nod tersely. "We will speak to the defenders and see what we can do to bolster the town's defenses until then." 

"Lexen, you're about dead on your feet," Tom says. "You should get some rest while you can." 

"We can handle this," Rispy says with a grin. "Leave it to us." 

I sigh, and reluctantly give a nod. They're right, of course. I set up my tent in the middle of the Chantry, and say to Bann Teagan, "If you need more room, send people inside the tent. It's bigger on the inside. Magic. Don't ask." 

"That... could be useful, yes," Teagan says. "Rest well, and Maker watch over you." 

* * *

I snatch a few hours of sleep, although little real rest comes of it. At least the archdemon doesn't seem to be paying specific attention to me at the moment, but that's not much of a comfort. 

I wake as night approaches, and head out of the Chantry to meet up with my companions. "Status report," I say. "Are we ready for tonight?" 

"Ready as we'll ever be, I think," Alistair says. "I've been making plans with the mayor and Bann Teagan for the fight." 

"I convinced the blacksmith to return to work by promising to look for his poor daughter in the castle," Leliana says. 

"I found a young boy who had run off and hid," Bethany says. "He offered up his family's sword to help defend the village." 

"I 'convinced' the dwarf, Dwyn, and his mercenaries, to help fight instead of hide in a hole until they're dragged off to die," Rispy says. 

I can just imagine how Rispy did his convincing. He's never been one to toy with words, when letting weapons speak for him would work better. 

"There was an elf watching the castle on orders from one Arl Howe," Sten says. "He has reconsidered his position, and will fight. As will the barkeep." 

And I can likewise imagine how Sten did his convincing as well. Probably by towering over them and looking disapprovingly at them until they started sweating. 

"Howe?" Alistair says. "He's Loghain's right hand man. Does that mean that Loghain could be behind this somehow?" 

"Why in the Fade would Loghain make undead randomly attack a village?" I say, looking at him incredulously. "I know you're suspicious of him and all, but that seems more far-fetched than usual." 

"I've rallied the knights in the village," Wesley says. "I spoke of my miraculous recovery, and convinced them that the Maker is on our side." 

"That's wonderful!" Leliana says. 

I shift uncomfortably, and put on a placid mask on my face to avoid grimacing at that. The Maker didn't have anything to do with that. It was spirit magic. Angels, as they would have been called elsewhere. But the people of Thedas, especially the templars, seem to believe that all spirits are to be distrusted. While they do need to be dealt with with caution -- they aren't human, after all, and don't think like mortals do -- it would be foolish to assume that all are like demons. 

"We also had the dwarven boy, Sandal, put protective enchantments on a number of silver holy symbols the Revered Mother had stored away," Aveline says. "Perhaps not precisely the Maker's blessing, but it will help nonetheless." 

"Sandal's talents are surely a gift of the Maker, however," Leliana says. 

"I found a several barrels of lamp oil in the general store," Tom says. "We can use that to set many of the undead on fire and help to stem the tide." 

"I... went drinking," Carver says a little sheepishly when I look to him next. "The barmaid was offering free drinks after the barkeep got conscripted for the militia." 

I smirk. "I hope you're not drunk now." 

"Just enough to make me momentarily forget that my brother will probably kill ten times as many monsters tonight than me." 

I chuckle, then look to the dog. "And you, Padfoot. What have you been doing to prepare for the fight?" 

Padfoot barks enthusiastically, and then looks up toward a large tree on the cliff, and pants happily. 

"He, uh, marked this as his territory, I think," Alistair says. 

"Good boy," I say, patting the dog and scratching him behind the ears. 

"We're ready to fight, Warden-Commander," the man Alistair had indicated was the mayor says. "I didn't think I'd hear myself actually saying this, but I think we've got a shot at this. And a damned good shot at that. I'm glad you're here. We couldn't have done this without you." 

Tom says to me quietly, "You would have run yourself ragged for the entire afternoon trying to do all of this yourself, wouldn't you." 

"Maybe," I say. 

Tom chuckles. "If you're going to call yourself Warden-Commander, you can't be afraid to delegate, you know." 

I go over to stand watch with Tom, near where the knights are posted, as the sun sinks toward the horizon. Suddenly, a bright silvery bird flits into view, and my heart stops for a fleeting moment as I think that it's Cassie's raven Patronus. But no, it's Kirlin's dove. 

"Lexen, I'm sure you're very busy fighting darkspawn and all," the dove says in Kirlin's voice. "But we have a situation here at Kinloch Hold. Abominations have overrun the tower. Knight-Commander Greagoir has called for the Right of Annulment. I'm holding the line with Wynne and some others, but Gellert is trapped in the tower somewhere, if he hasn't been possessed himself. I'm not too proud to say that we need help. Even from you." 

"Fuck," I utter as the dove wisps away into nothingness. 

The leader of the knights in Redcliffe, Ser Perth I believe his name was, stares at the spot where the Patronus had been in alarm. "What was that? There is trouble at the tower?" 

"A messenger spell," I say, reaching into my bag and pulling out my wand. " _Expecto Patronum_ ," I say, thinking of the rainbow after the storm. My translucent duck emerges. "Take a message to Kirlin. Tell her, I'm at Redcliffe right now. I can be there with help in a few days, but we have a situation here as well to resolve first. We will come as soon as possible, however." The duck nods and zips off with my message. 

"You are a mage?" Ser Perth says. "But you are wearing armor, and a sword!" 

"So am I," Tom says, pulling out his wand as well. " _Expecto Patronum_." A silvery snake slithers out from the tip of his wand. "Find Gellert, and ask him, 'What is your status?'" The snake speeds off into nothingness as well. 

"I have never seen a spell like that before," Ser Perth says. "But it seems very useful. Can you send those messages to anyone?" 

I shake my head. "Only people I'm familiar enough with that it can find them." 

After a minute, Gellert's phoenix Patronus appears. "I'm alright for now, but things are pretty bad here, and getting worse. I've barricaded myself near the top of the tower, but I can't get down to where Kirlin and the others are." 

I summon my own Patronus, and tell it, "Take a message to Gellert. Tell him to get help from Mouse if he can." I don't want to give more details in front of Wesley. Hopefully Gellert will realize that I was intentionally being vague. 

Thankfully, Gellert's reply is a simple, "Acknowledged. Will do. Get here soon." 

Wesley says, "Once we've dealt with the problems in Redcliffe, we must make our way up to the Circle Tower as soon as possible to resolve the situation there." 

"Agreed," I say. 

Darkness is encroaching upon the village, and a sickly green mist rises up from the castle. "They're coming!" someone shouts. 

"Stand ready!" I order. 

The walking dead sweep down upon us, shambling like an unstoppable force of death. They walk right into the flaming oil that had been set up, and many of them collapse into ashes before they even get to the defenders. I conserve my magical energy for healing spells, and slice at the zombies with my sword instead. 

"They're coming up from the lake!" calls a villager, racing up the slope in a panic. 

"The others should be able to manage it," I say. "We've got our hands full here." 

Bethany had been assigned to healing spells down at the barricade in front of the Chantry, Carver watching her back. Morrigan was there to provide support with offensive magic, alongside Alistair, no doubt to her great displeasure. Sten, Rispy, and Leliana were there also, and it was almost comical seeing the overweight bartender with a long knife preparing to defend the village. 

Meanwhile, up top and cutting down anything that comes out of that castle, I'm standing alongside Tom, Wesley, Aveline, and of course, Padfoot. All in all, I think we're doing quite well. We'd better be. And this had better do it for Redcliffe. I don't think I could manage another night of this. I don't know how they've managed to hold out this long as it is, especially with so many of the knights out searching for fables. 

But the zombies keep coming. Hour after hour, wave after wave. I drain down the last lyrium potion in my bag and toss another healing spell at Aveline. I'm running off nothing but lyrium and adrenaline by this point. I'm hardly aware of it when the sky starts to lighten, and the battlefield grows quiet. 

"It's over," says a voice wearily, and my blurry eyes look over into Tom's face. He's supporting me with an arm, but I can tell that he's just as tired as I am. He's just hiding it better. "Come, love. Let's meet up with the others." 

"Dawn has arrived, and we are still standing," a man is speaking in front of the Chantry by the time we get down there. Bann Teagan, I think tiredly. "We have survived the night. We are victorious." 

"Let us give thanks to the Maker for our salvation," the Revered Mother says. "And honor those of us who did not make it this far." 

"The Maker had nothing to do with their salvation," Morrigan mutters, thankfully only audibly enough that those immediately around her can hear. Which, being me, Tom, and Sten, does not include anyone that would be offended. 

Sten is the only one of us who does not even seem winded. "I wish I had your stamina, Sten," I murmur. 

"Such is to be expected," Sten says. "You are neither kossith nor Qunari." 

"No, just a Fereldan human," I reply. "With a dash of elf." 

Bann Teagan comes over to us. "Now that we've struck such a blow against the undead menace, I think we may be able to get someone into the castle and find out what really happened here." 

"Of course," I say, mustering my strength and trying to push away the exhaustion weighing down upon me. Teagan doesn't seem tired at all. How much of this night did he spend asleep? Not that I can blame him. He probably passed out from exhaustion himself. 

"Can it wait a few hours?" Tom says. "The lot of us have been fighting all night without rest. So unless you're suggesting that you and Sten go in, we're going to need a breather, at least." 

"Yes, of course," Teagan says. "I did not mean to suggest that this must be done immediately. Things will probably be quiet enough for the moment. Perhaps meet me at the windmill at noon?" 

I give a faint nod. "I'll be there." 

I almost fall over going into the Chantry. Tom and I are trying to support one another, but neither of us has much left in us. Then, Sten scoops us both up, one under each arm, and drags us inside. That might be embarrassing if I weren't so drained. 

* * *

The only thing keeping the nightmares even the least bit at bay is Tom's arms around me as I sleep. Every time I close my eyes, the archdemon is there, pulling at my mind and soul. 

I wake a little bit before noon and gather up my tent. I'm still tired. I can't help but still be tired. But I can function, at least. Tom doesn't seem to have that problem. He doesn't need to deal with the archdemon in his mind. 

By the time we get up to the windmill, Sten and Alistair are already there, but there is no sign of Bann Teagan at the moment. I hope Alistair, at least, got some sleep. He doesn't exactly have a kossith's stamina, either. Are the nightmares as bad for him as they are for me, I wonder? 

"There you are," Alistair says. "I only hope this delay does not cost us." 

Tom casts a cold glare at him. "No more than it would cost us to go in there with us dead on our feet." 

"Where is Bann Teagan?" I ask. 

Sten says, "Shortly after dawn, a woman emerged from the castle. The... arlessa, I believe the word is." 

"Isolde?" Alistair says. "She's alive?" 

"At least she was six hours ago," Sten says. "She insisted that the bann should return to the castle with her alone. She spoke of an evil that had taken root in the castle, and mentioned a mage who had poisoned the arl. I believe there may be a demon at work here." 

"Oh, this is not good news," I say, groaning a little. 

"Indeed," Sten says. "The bann gave me a ring that would open the way into a hidden tunnel under the windmill, so that we might gain access to the castle from below." 

"I shouldn't have slept so much," I mutter, taking the signet ring Sten offers me. "They are in grave danger." 

"And you'd be no good to them as you were," Tom says. 

I head inside the mill and locate the secret passage Teagan spoke of, and go in, followed by Sten, Alistair, and Tom. 

"A tunnel going under the lake?" Tom says. "Why would they bother to build something like this?" 

"Well, at least it's not a tunnel going across the Waking Sea from Ferelden to the Free Marches," I comment. 

"Better the Free Marches than Orlais," Tom says. 

A small group of undead is loitering in the tunnel. After we plow our way through them, a distressingly familiar voice calls out to us. 

"Is there someone out there?" Jowan says. "Lexen! By the Maker, I can't believe it!" 

I step forward to take a look at the mage in the cell, haggard and a fair bit worse for wear. "Jowan, what in Andraste's name are you doing here? Don't tell me you're behind all this. What happened to Lily?" 

Jowan sighs heavily. "She... She discovered that I'm a blood mage and ran off." 

" _You're_ a blood mage?" I say, barking a laugh. "You, of all of us, turned out to be a blood mage? Oh, that's rich." 

"Yes, laugh, go ahead," Jowan grumbles. "I deserve my fate." 

"So you are the mage who poisoned the arl," Sten says. 

"You know that too?" Jowan says, shaking his head hopelessly. "Oh, none of this worked out the way I hoped it would." 

"The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry," I say. "You can explain to me how this all happened once I get you out of this cell." 

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Alistair says. "He did admit to being a blood mage. _And_ to poisoning Arl Eamon!" 

"He is my _friend_ ," I say firmly. "Whatever he has done, he does not deserve to be imprisoned. If he is to be punished for his crimes, then he should be killed or conscripted, not locked up and forgotten." 

I force magic through the lock, and the door swings open with a creak and a clang. Jowan steps out hesitantly. 

"We need to get up top," I say. "Bann Teagan is in danger. Explain what happened and how you are involved in all this along the way." 

"Of course," Jowan says, coming along with us. 

"Start by explaining why you poisoned Arl Eamon," Alistair says pointedly. 

"Teyrn Loghain ordered me to," Jowan says. "He promised that he'd take care of things with the Circle for me. He told me that the arl was a threat to Ferelden. I thought I was doing what was best, you know? I've made so many mistakes. I just wish I could go back and fix everything." 

I give a nod. "I understand." Maybe sometime, I can let him get his wish. I might fail at many other things, but I'm good at going back in time, at least. Actually changing the past for the better is rarely as easy as it sounds, however. 

"You understand?" Alistair says. "Loghain _was_ behind this after all! Arl Eamon is a good man!" 

"He must have had good reason for this," I say. "I don't like the methods he used, but Teyrn Loghain had to have thought Eamon was legitimately a threat somehow." 

"A threat to his own regimes and foul schemes!" Alistair exclaims. "I can't believe you!" 

Tom sighs and rubs his forehead. "Let us deal with the matter at hand first, shall we? Jowan, what was the evil the arlessa spoke of? What was behind the undead? A demon of some sort?" 

"I really don't know," Jowan says. "I was already imprisoned when this happened. Lady Isolde demanded answers of me, but I could tell her nothing. Maybe Connor did something without realizing it." 

"Connor?" Alistair says. "Arl Eamon's son?" 

"He had started to show signs of magic, you see," Jowan says. "Lady Isolde hired me on to teach her son how to control his magic so that she wouldn't need to send him to the Circle." 

I nod. "A commendable motivation. So how did it go wrong?" 

"Maybe Connor accidentally tore the Veil somehow, and let something through," Jowan says. "I don't know." 

Sten is quiet, stoic, but I can practically _feel_ his general disapproval in the looks that he gives me, Tom, and Jowan. 

Alistair, however, is far more vocal about it. "None of this excuses what you did." 

"Enough, Alistair," I say. "I know you were close to the arl, and you dislike Loghain, but I still think Loghain was doing what he thought was best." 

"Does no one else see a problem with him supporting that mad, evil teyrn?" Alistair says, looking to the others. 

"He can support whoever he feels like," Tom replies. "I will follow _him_ , without question or hesitation." 

"Sten?" Alistair says. "What about you?" 

"I do not approve," Sten says. "No one in this land has sensible views of magic. And the more I hear of the teyrn, the more I think him a coward." 

"Yes, locking up mages like they do is a terrible thing," I say. 

"It is a terrible thing that they do not collar them and cut out their tongues," Sten replies. "Qunari lands have far fewer problems with magic." 

I blink at him. "You think I should be collared?" 

"If you were Qunari, you would be," Sten replies. "But it is not the demand of the Qun to convert this land at this time. These are strange times, in strange lands, that have led me to following a mage to fight strange creatures. I have said too much." He goes quiet again. 

I sigh and shake my head. One of these days, I think, I am going to need to learn more about the Qunari. But I do not relish the idea of being collared. And especially not of having my tongue cut out. My tongue is a far greater weapon than my magic, sometimes. 

There are more zombies up in the castle proper. Apparently not all of them came out to attack the village. After fighting through a few more groups of them, we come upon a maid hiding away in a small larder, tired and terrified. She shrieks when we open the door, until she realizes that we're not killing her. 

"Relax, the creatures are dead," I say. "Re-dead, anyway. At least the ones in this area." 

"Oh, thank the Maker! Someone finally came to help! I need to get out of here. I need to get to my father, the village smith. He's probably worried sick about me!" 

Oh, this must be the one Leliana promised to find. I'm surprised she's even still alive. "There's a tunnel leading out under the lake," I say, pointing. "Everything between here and the exit should be dead, at least." 

"I'll find my way. Thank you!" She runs off. 

We make our way through the castle, bursting through another stubbornly locked door, looking for any signs of people who _aren't_ zombies or random maids that are still miraculously alive. 

Then, we enter into the great hall, and are treated to the sight of Bann Teagan frolicking around like a clown as a young boy watches on, clapping. One would think that there were no problem here at all, and this merely an uncle entertaining his young nephew. But I know better. Even before the boy opens his mouth and starts speaking in a deep, echoing, demonic voice. 

"What is this, Mother? Are these the ones who defeated the soldiers I sent to reclaim my village?" 

"And this is why uncontrolled mages are a danger to themselves and others," Sten says. 

"You brought that mage!" a woman with an Orlesian accent, probably Lady Isolde, says, glaring at Jowan. "You! You were the one who started all this! You poisoned my husband and summoned a demon to possess my son!" 

"Yes, I poisoned the arl, but I didn't summon any demons!" Jowan says. 

"Way to take a stand and sound less incriminating," Tom says dryly. 

"Please," the woman says, turning to me. "Don't hurt my son. He is not responsible for what has happened here." 

"So, Connor, was it?" Tom says. "You made a deal with a demon, huh? Was it worth it? What did you get out of it?" 

"It was a good deal!" the demon replies. "Father is alive, and now I get to sit on the throne and have fun, and nobody can tell me what to do anymore!" 

"Well, the small problem with that is that your fun has attracted some unwelcome attention," I say. 

"And now you have spoiled my fun!" the demon rumbles. "You will make up for this. You will entertain me!" 

Bann Teagan and the guards in the room suddenly turn to attack us as the possessed boy runs out of the room. 

"Don't hurt them," I order my companions. "Nonlethal combat only." 

Alistair and Sten hold them at bay, and within moments, Tom and I have stunned them all. 

"If he wanted entertainment, running away instead of staying to watch was not particularly conducive toward that goal," Tom says. 

I point at Bann Teagan and think, _Rennervate_. He regains consciousness with a groan, and Isolde helps him to his feet. 

"Are you alright, Teagan?" I ask. 

"Yes, I am... myself again," Teagan says. 

"Thank the Maker," Isolde says. "I could not live with myself had I brought you here only to perish." 

"Where is Arl Eamon?" I ask. "He's still alive, I take it?" 

"I think the demon is keeping him alive," Isolde says softly. 

"So if we were to remove the demon, he might die?" I say. 

"Yes," Isolde says. "We could not find any way to cure him." 

"Jowan, what in the Fade sort of poison did you _use_ , anyway?" I wonder. "Maker, I hate poison." I sigh. 

"I don't know what it was," Jowan says. "I'm certainly no expert on poison. Loghain gave it to me." 

"So what are we going to do about Connor?" Alistair says. "Normally I wouldn't suggest killing a child, but he's an abomination. I don't see much other option." 

"There is another option," Jowan says. "We could send someone into the Fade to confront the demon there." 

"Or we could try to perform a Ritual of Purification," Tom says. "But I am uncertain if it would even work, given that Connor was a willing participant and hardly seems to understand what is going on." 

"If we're trying to save the arl, we ought to find a way to cure him _before_ removing the thing that's keeping him alive," I point out. 

"There is that, also," Tom says. "Rash as it may have been, Connor made a legitimate deal. Although, personally, I would have asked the demon to _cure_ my father, rather than merely keep him alive..." He looks off at nothing, oblivious to the horrified looks that most others in the room are giving him. And a disapproving look from Sten. 

"We can't just leave Connor like this!" Isolde says. "Who knows what else the demon will do? It has already killed so many people!" 

"I'll leave some people here to keep watch and subdue the demon if need be without harming Connor," I say. "Entering the Fade is probably the best option, but not if it means the arl dies." 

"We would need more mages, and lyrium, to do that, though," Jowan says. "Unless we used blood magic." 

"We have five mages here, counting you, but we used up all our lyrium on the fight," I say. 

"If we were to use blood magic, it would take a lot of blood to power the spell," Jowan says. "All of it, in fact." 

Tom rolls his eyes. "Oh, please. A life sacrifice is _not_ necessary for that. You could just take _some_ of the blood of several people instead." 

"I... well, I didn't think of that," Jowan says. 

"You're really bad at being a blood mage, aren't you," Tom says. 

"I find it rather disturbing how much you seem to know about demons and blood magic," Alistair says to Tom. 

"Look, we're going up to the Circle Tower next," I say. "Some of the mages there are very good healers, and they would also have plenty of lyrium to be able to send someone into the Fade, as well." 

"We already tried their healers, and it was no use," Isolde says. 

"Maybe we should just go ask Loghain what kind of poison it was," I say. " _And_ why he wanted the arl out of the picture." 

"If you thought Loghain was doing the right thing, why are you even trying to save Arl Eamon?" Alistair wonders. 

"Just because I think Loghain's doing the right thing doesn't mean I want people to die needlessly," I say. 

"It's the saving people thing," Tom says. 


	14. Conversations on the Road

"I still can't believe _you_ of all people were involved with blood magic," I mutter to Jowan once we're alone. "Why did you never say anything? Okay, I suppose I can understand why you wouldn't let on to Kirlin, but Gellert and I hardly expressed much disapproval toward the more 'interesting' magical practices, even if we weren't being really obvious about knowing more about them than we probably ought to." 

"I guess it just never occurred to me," Jowan says. "You were always so powerful and skilled. Why would someone like you need blood magic?" 

"Need?" Tom says. "That's a strange way of putting it. And why would someone not wish _more_ power?" 

"I didn't ask before, but who might you be?" Jowan says, looking to Tom. 

Tom gives a broad grin, and says, "I am Thomas Hawke. Lexen's soulmate, so to speak." 

Jowan blinks at that. "Congratulations. I think. You're an apostate, I'm guessing?" 

"Born free and stayed free," Tom says. 

"I... I hope Lily will be alright," Jowan murmurs. "We were so happy at first. We were fugitives, but at least we were free. But you weren't there to protect us every time, and the templars found us. I tried to use blood magic to protect us, and Lily was so horrified that she ran off on the spot. I was too heartbroken to resist after that." 

"How did the templars find you?" I wonder. "I destroyed your phylactery!" 

"I don't know," Jowan says. "Maybe it was just... bad luck or something." 

I grunt. "I can believe that." 

Alistair pokes his head into the room and says, "Are you looting the arl's own private study?" 

"I'm not _looting_ ," I reply. "I'm merely... searching for clues." 

"And pocketing them," Tom adds helpfully. 

"Say, that's my mother's amulet!" Alistair says, coming over to grab a trinket off of the desk. 

"Now who's looting?" I say. 

"He even repaired it," Alistair says, looking it over in his hands. "Wow, maybe he wanted to give it back to me?" 

"You just keep telling yourself that," Tom says lightly as Alistair leaves the room, muttering to himself. 

"Let's go 'search for clues' in the rest of the castle, shall we?" I say. 

After poking around a bit, and helping ourselves to a few items from the castle armory, we come upon the room where the boy is hiding at the moment. 

He speaks to us in the voice of a normal little boy, "You'd better stay away. Don't get too close. She might try to hurt you." 

"Don't worry about us," I say. "We can handle ourselves." 

"I think she's afraid of you," Connor says quietly. "She's afraid you'll make her go away and spoil her fun." 

"Connor, how did this happen?" Jowan wonders. "I never taught you anything like this!" 

"I... well, after Mother took you away down to the dungeon, I snuck into your room and read your books," Connor says. "The ones you wouldn't let me read before." 

"Wait a minute," I say, turning to Jowan. "You managed to sneak out of the tower with blood magic books, but left them laying around after coming here?" 

"Well... yeah," Jowan says sheepishly. 

"Never mind that," Tom says, waving a hand. "Connor, the demon -- a desire demon? -- is keeping your father alive. Can she cure him?" 

"I don't know," Connor says. "I don't think so. But she likes to be near him, because people will come for him, and she wants to hurt them. She wants to hurt _you_." 

"Alright, demon," Tom says. "I know you're watching and listening to this. So I'm going to make you an offer. No more trouble out of you -- no more slaughtering random villagers with hordes of undead -- and we might not take away all your playthings." 

"You would let this demon keep its claws on Connor?" Jowan says, horrified. 

"I have no compunction against working with a demon," Tom says. "However, I will not stand for this nonsense. If you can keep your end of the bargain and actually cure the arl, then we will leave you be. Otherwise, we _will_ need to go and find a way to cure him. If you are on your best behavior, we might just let you keep your toy. Understand?" 

Connor is quietly looking at the floor. "Maybe she... won't hurt anyone else?" 

"And don't get any ideas about us leaving, either," Tom says. "I'm leaving my brother and sister here to make sure there's no trouble, and don't think that they can't handle you, too." 

Tom and I head out of the castle and back down to the village to meet up with the others. Jowan, however, remains behind, probably to brood and feel guilty. As if he weren't broody enough before. 

"Surely you don't intend to actually leave that demon in control of the boy," I say along the way. 

Tom shrugs. "It doesn't matter. What matters is that she believes that I might and behaves in the interim. We can always oust her once we have the means to cure the arl." 

We locate Tom's family eating a quiet lunch down by the water. "What's going on in the castle?" asks Carver. 

"Things should be safe for the moment," Tom says. "But I need to ask a favor of you." 

"Of course, brother," Bethany says. 

Tom leans over their table and says quietly, "The arl is still sick, and his son is possessed by a demon who is keeping him alive. We need to find a cure for the arl before we can deal with the demon, or the arl could die. I know it's a lot to ask, and it could be dangerous, but can you keep an eye on things while we're gone to make sure the demon doesn't cause any trouble?" 

"Oh, Maker," Leandra murmurs. 

"So, what, we stay here and babysit while you're off saving the world?" Carver says. 

"It's an important task," Tom says. 

"Well, I'll stay here to protect Mother," Carver says. "Not because you asked me to." 

"Carver!" Leandra says. "There's no need to be contrary. Your brother is right." 

"Well, you can count on me, at least," Bethany says. "I'll send you a Patronus if anything changes here." 

"You can cast a Patronus?" I say in surprise. 

Tom nods. "I taught her how. She picked it up much more readily than me, even without a focus." 

"Will we be safe from the Blight here?" Leandra wonders. 

"As safe as anywhere else in Ferelden, I suppose," I say. "The castle should certainly be alright." 

"And what about the templars?" Bethany says. "Everyone here knows I'm a mage now, after the battle. Though they seem quite grateful to me..." 

"If anyone gives you trouble about it, tell them you're a Grey Warden posted here on orders of the Warden-Commander of Ferelden," I say. 

"I suppose..." Bethany says. 

"Are you really that concerned about lying about it?" I say. "You've been hiding being a mage all your life. At least this way, you can safely be a mage openly. And if you're really concerned about lying, I could just conscript you can be done with it." 

"I don't know if I could really be a Grey Warden," Bethany says quietly. "It all sounds so terrifying. But I can do _this_ , and if it means I don't have to hide anymore, so much the better." 

I would like to set out for Kinloch Hold immediately. People could be dying in the tower, and very probably are. But Tom insists that we get one good night's sleep, at least, and set out first thing in the morning. I can't really argue with him, I suppose. It's been a very trying past few days. 

And so, we set out before daybreak the next morning, without the Hawkes or the noncombatants who had accompanied us to Redcliffe. They will be safe enough there, I hope. 

I'm still tired, though. I feel like I never really sleep, these days. The world doesn't quite seem real anymore. And I feel like I'm going to wind up with Morrigan calling me by the wrong name and discovering that I'm possessed by a demon that has randomly started up underground boxing rings. Damn it, why did Gellert have to drag me to see that stupid movie? Alright, so it would have made more sense if it actually _had_ been a case of demonic possession. 

I come up next to Alistair and say, "You seem to be sleeping better than me. Nightmares not so bad for you?" 

"They say it's worse for those who join during a Blight," Alistair says. "And some people always have it worse than others. They're just more sensitive, I suppose." 

Alright, let's amend that. Maybe the archdemon is going to make me start up underground boxing rings, instead, and start controlling me while I sleep. Now there's a pleasant thought. Well, at least I could hope to wind up as ripped as the Muggle in that movie. 

Although I think I'm getting to the point where I'd be willing to get addicted to a dangerous magical substance in order to block out the dreams. And I thought the Dementors were bad. Okay, the Dementors _were_ bad. But they're just a distant memory, while the archdemon is here, now. 

"Lexen? You still here?" Alistair says. 

I blink. "Yeah. I'm here." 

"You drifted off there for a moment." 

"Don't mind me," I say with a shrug. "Mind's just wandering a bit." 

"How bad is it?" Alistair asks almost gently. 

"Bad," I reply without hesitation. "The archdemon is always there, and I feel like she wants to drag me off at any moment." 

"She?" Alistair raises an eyebrow. 

"Definitely a she," I say. 

"I guess it would have to be, since it's a tainted high dragon, and the males don't have wings," Alistair says. "I just never really thought about it." 

"I don't know about that," I say. "I just _know_ it's female. And she wants me." 

"You can understand it-- her?" Alistair says. 

"Sort of," I say. "More impressions than anything else." I sigh. "The sooner we end this Blight, the better. Because otherwise..." I sigh and put my hand to my forehead. "I'm going to lose it." 

"You're losing it this quickly?" Alistair says. "It's only even been two weeks since your Joining!" 

"I think maybe I was never supposed to be a Grey Warden in the first place," I say quietly. Approaching darkspawn tease at the edge of my consciousness. "Darkspawn coming." 

"I don't sense anything," Alistair says. 

"They're there," I say, gesturing to the others. "Get ready for a fight. About twenty darkspawn, heading straight this way." 

"There they are, now I sense them," Alistair says after a minute. 

When they come, we're ready for them. We fight them off almost casually, and continue on our way. I don't need to think to fight. I can kill on instinct if need be. 

"It's not supposed to go so quickly," Alistair says. "You should be able to last at least a few years, if not decades, with the taint." 

I turn to look at him flatly. "What are you talking about?" 

"Didn't anyone tell you?" Alistair says. "The taint is a death sentence, if a slow one. We have thirty years to live, tops. Probably less, during a Blight. After a while, then the nightmares start getting worse, and we can't hold it off any longer. The taint starts calling us, and we go to Orzammar to die fighting darkspawn in the Deep Roads." 

"The taint is _already_ calling me," I reply. 

"That's... not good," Alistair says. "Duncan... Duncan said that the nightmares had started up for him again, and that he'd have to go to Orzammar soon himself. He told me that you'd eventually find yourself seeking them out... or they'd seek you out." 

I make a face. It's not the time limit that concerns me. Time is irrelevant. It's the reasons for it that's problematic. I hope Tom perfects that ritual he's been working on, before this drives me mad. 

I go over to Tom and put up a privacy charm. "How's that ritual coming along? Do you think it would work on me as well as it did on Wesley?" 

"Wanting to be rid of the Grey Warden thing already?" Tom says, raising an eyebrow. 

"Just wondering," I say. 

"It seemed to work well enough on someone who was merely infected with the taint," Tom says. "I don't know how it will affect someone who underwent a ritual like the Joining, though. There seems to be more involved there than merely infecting yourself, and I'm unclear on the specifics." 

"Keep at it," I say. "I don't know what might happen to me otherwise, but I don't like my prospects." 

"I did warn you about participating in rituals like that without knowing what was entailed," Tom says. 

"I know," I say, sighing. "And I should have listened to you. But it's too damned late, now. The taint is far worse in me than it is in Alistair. It's affecting me much more strongly." 

"Because you went through the Joining three times?" Tom speculates. "Or because you shouldn't have survived the Joining at all? Because of your dragon's blood? Or something else entirely?" 

"I don't know," I say. "But I think I'm going to take up your offer of Dreamless Sleep potions. If that can keep me sane until we can end the Blight and find a solution, then so be it. I'll deal with the consequences and potential side-effects afterward." 

Tom gives a nod. "I'll see what I can do." He puts a hand firmly on my shoulder. "I _will_ find a solution, love. One way or another. No matter what I have to do in order to accomplish it." 

I don't know what I should think at the idea that he would probably burn the entire world to ash all by himself, solely for my sake. I should probably be more disturbed than I am. 

"I didn't think I'd be heading back to Kinloch Hold again quite so soon," Rispy comments, coming up beside me. "So, you've been recruiting everyone else. Can I be a Grey Warden, too?" 

"Do you really think I'd tell you no?" I reply, chuckling. "Of course." 

"You might not want to actually go through the Joining, though," Tom says quietly. 

"Not much worry of that right now, though," I say. "We don't have the means to perform the ritual, anyway." 

"That's alright," Rispy says. "I just want to be able to say 'fuck you' to those blighters when we get back to Orzammar. We are going back there sooner or later, aren't we? I heard something about treaties, including the dwarves." 

"We are," I say. "And I'm certainly not going to let them hurt you or lock you up." 

"Good," Rispy says. "And if anyone's hurt my sister in the meantime, I'll skin them alive." 

I'm not sure whether he's exaggerating and using the phrase figuratively, or if he actually would. 

"First, however, we have to save the tower," I say. "I hope there's still people alive when we get there..." 

"Gellert's still alive," Tom says. "You'd have known if he weren't. And he or Kirlin would have sent word if things had taken a turn for the worse." 

"True, I suppose," I say. "I just can't help but worry. Why is it everything has to go wrong at once?" 

And all I want to do is sleep. I know that if I were to ask, Tom would let me sleep and deal with this all himself. But I don't want to have to do that... and I don't think I would like some of the ways Tom would choose to solve things. 

Morrigan comes up to me and says, "Are you excited to be returning to your prison?" 

"Not really," I say. "If it weren't for the libraries, I'd be happy if I never saw the place again." 

"Will the templars stand by and simply allow mages such as we three to walk out again?" Morrigan says. 

"I'm a Grey Warden," I say. "And seeing as it's during a Blight, they can't refuse me. I can always claim you two are as well." 

"But I am not a Grey Warden, and have no desire to be," Morrigan says. 

"Sensible," Tom says. 

"Then lie," I say, shrugging. "The Grey Wardens take all sorts, and they have no way of knowing that it isn't the truth." 

Tom chuckles. "It's so lovely to see how quickly you turn to abuse the tenets of the order you were so eager to join." 

"I've spent too much time around you, I think," I say with a smirk. "Here I am, cheerfully twisting anything to my advantage." 

"I say one should take one's advantage where it can be obtained," Morrigan says. "I see no problem with that. Especially when it allows you to retain your freedom." 

Tom leans close and grabs my arm, and whispers into my ear in Parseltongue, "Turning into a regular Slytherin." 

"Ugh," Morrigan murmurs. "Tis bad enough that the two of you have this foolish 'love' thing going on, but must you display it quite so openly at times?" 

"What, no appreciation for love, Morrigan?" Tom says, looking to her with an almost feral grin. 

"Of course not," Morrigan replies. "Why would I ever wish to have myself bound to another in such a fashion?" 

"You have _no_ idea," Tom drawls. 

"Then enlighten me, if you would," Morrigan says. "Twould be an amusing notion, I believe." 

"Very well," Tom says, absently flicking his fingers just to make doubly sure that there's a privacy spell up, and I have to wonder just what he intends to tell her. "Love is life. Love is salvation. Love is freedom. Love is immortality." 

"I do not see how you can say that," Morrigan says. "You speak metaphorically. And how can you be free if you are bound to another?" 

"That bond does not necessitate exclusivity," Tom says. "Either of us could sleep with you, of course. Or both at once. Would you like that?" He grins at her like a hungry animal. 

Morrigan blinks. "I... well, twould be an entertaining diversion, I suppose, but I shall pass. I was, however, led to believe that humans typically engage in foolish courtship rituals involving the exchange of flowers and bad poetry?" 

"It's... traditional," I say. "Or something. I never saw much point in it myself." 

"Still, perhaps you would care to explain what you meant about love?" Morrigan says. 

"It's a long story," I reply. 

Tom snickers. "Don't listen to him. They're always long stories, with him. I think he has just gotten into the habit of being verbose, and doesn't know what to cut, or when to summarize." 

"Fine, you explain it, then," I say with a smirk. 

"Very well, as you wish, love," Tom says, grinning again. "You see, Morrigan, here's how it is. Once, I almost destroyed myself seeking blindly for immortality. I dealt with demonic magic, delved into things best left untouched. And then I found Lexen. Through him, I learned what it was to _live_ , not merely to survive." 

Morrigan frowns for a moment, and says, "One moment." She looks to me critically. "Did you not say that you had been locked in that tower your entire life?" 

"I lied," I say, winking at her. 

"I see," Morrigan says, turning back to Tom. "So how, precisely, did love _save_ you, then? This I must hear." 

Tom throws back his head and laughs lightly. "It gave me the strength to seek remorse and heal the shattered fragments of my broken soul. The rituals I had used to grasp at immortality had left me little more than a monster, a madman bent on cruelty, no different than the demons who torment children." 

"I do not understand," Morrigan says, shaking her head. "Do you not have a family? Did they know nothing of this, then? And do you not _love_ them as well?" 

Tom chuckles. "Oh, it's complicated. It's complicated." 

"I think I have had my fill of your complicated love for the moment," Morrigan says. "I shall go and annoy Alistair instead." She turns and heads away. 

"Do you think we should tell her?" I ask Tom quietly once Morrigan has left. 

"Up to you, love," Tom says. "Do you find her attractive? Do you seek to bring her along on our merry jaunt between worlds?" 

"I don't know," I say, staring off at the lake stretching off at our side. "I almost wish we hadn't come here at all." 

Tom puts his hand reassuringly on my shoulder. "There is no world we have visited that has not left its mark upon us. It would be foolish to have thought that this one would be any different. Even had we merely sought to come and learn, and gone out of our way to avoid being caught up in events, we no doubt would have regardless. Perhaps that's just the way of things." 

"You're probably right," I say. "I think it's worth the risks, though." 

"Things were simpler when I could have no care in the world beyond you," Tom says. "I did not expect to wind up with a family... but I find that I cannot complain of it, regardless. I have gained more in this life than merely knowledge. And I am glad for that." 

I glance back at Morrigan, pestering Alistair as we walk along the road, and wonder. She is no Cassie, but then no one is. And yet, I think we are kindred spirits, in a way. We could get along quite well. If she delights at seeing new sights, would she not delight all the moreso at the idea of seeing entirely new worlds? Perhaps worlds where she need never fear the prospect of being hunted or hated for her magic at all? 

I look away with an ache in my heart. If I did, I don't think I could bear to lose her. There's nothing worse than having the expectation of eternity, only to have those hopes dashed. If I ever lost Tom, I think it would probably destroy me. 

No, there's no point in such morbid thoughts. "I don't think I want to risk another Soul Bond," I say quietly. "But perhaps sometime, we could take her along somewhere regardless. I don't know." 

"Something to think about, perhaps," Tom says with a shrug. "The multiverse holds infinite possibilities. We have only begun to scratch the surface." 


	15. Circle Tower

A night without dreams isn't so restful as I might have hoped, but at least it was a welcome respite from the archdemon's constant presence. Saving the world while trying to avoid going mad? Been there, done that. Why am I doing this again? 

As we catch sight of Kinloch Hold looming in the distance across the water, Tom and I send off messages to Gellert and Kirlin letting them know that we were arriving. From their replies, the situation has not improved, but they're holding steady for the moment. 

"They might not be very happy with me at the moment," I comment as we approach the docks. "The last time I was here, I kind of assaulted a group of templars. Duncan stepped in with the Right of Conscription and hauled me out of there in the middle of the night." 

"You did what?" Aveline says. "Why would you do such a thing?" 

"It seemed like a good idea at the time?" I say. "Oh, I also destroyed all the apprentice phylacteries." 

"And here I thought my sudden revelations were shocking," Alistair says dryly. 

I smirk. "So, yeah, somebody will probably mention it, so I figured I'd get that out there right now and be done with it. No surprises, right?" 

"I have my doubts that many of the apprentices here would have taken the opportunity to gain their freedom, regardless," Morrigan says. 

Sten says nothing, but looks on in general disapproval. 

"I'm sure you had good reason to do what you did, am I right?" Leliana says hesitantly. 

We approach the docks, where a templar is guarding the ferry. "I hope you aren't looking to get across," he says. "My orders are not to allow anyone into the tower at this time." 

"We came as quickly as we could to assist with the situation in the tower," I say. 

"We were delayed by problems in Redcliffe, unfortunately," Wesley says. 

"Why should I allow you in?" the templar asks. 

"I am a templar, and my companions are Grey Wardens seeking assistance with the Blight," Wesley says. 

"I don't recognize you. Anyone could put on that armor, and anyone can claim to be Grey Wardens. Do you have any sort of proof?" 

Wesley starts to look offended, but I hold up my hand and pull the treaty for the Circle of Magi out of my bag and pass it over to the templar. 

"Oh, that looks real official," the templar says. "You know, I have some documents too. They say I'm the queen of Antiva. What do you say to that?" 

"I say we see how well templars can swim in that armor," Tom puts in. 

"I am going to speak with the Knight-Commander here about the fool he put in charge of the docks," Wesley says. 

"You think Greagoir would be angry with me if I don't let you in?" the templars says. "Oh, wait, actually, he would. I see your point. Alright, fine, I'll take you across. Greagoir can deal with you himself." 

Six humans, one dwarf, one kossith, and one dog pile into the ferry. Thankfully, it doesn't capsize under the weight of all of us and our armor. I suppose it was probably made with templars in mind, anyway. 

Once on the small island housing Kinloch Hold, we clamber out and up through the gates to the tower. I didn't hope to be going through these gates again anytime soon. I just hope that they will let me out again afterward. If they don't, well, I might just try to blast my way to freedom again. This time I have allies who will help, too. 

"Of all the good men and women who were lost at Ostagar, you, of all people, survived," Greagoir says. "Well, I suppose I'm glad to see that you aren't dead." 

"Are you really?" I say. 

"Someone has to stop the Blight, after all," Greagoir says. "The situation here does not involve you, however." 

"It involves _me_ ," Wesley says, stepping in. "I may not have been stationed here, but I _am_ a templar, and when I heard word of the situation here, I brought what assistance I could." 

"You know of what has transpired here?" Greagoir says. 

"One of my friends trapped inside was able to get off a message spell that found us while we were in Redcliffe," I say. "We came as soon as we could." 

"So there _are_ mages still alive inside?" Greagoir says. 

I nod. "We exchanged message spells again as we approached the docks. They've been holding the line against the demons." 

"That's good to hear," Greagoir says. "I sent to Denerim to call for reinforcements and the Right of Annulment, but it's too soon for word back to have arrived yet." 

"There is no need for that," I say. "My companions and I can go in and gather up any survivors and clear out the abominations." 

"Not to disparage your courage, but abominations and demons are forces to be reckoned with," Greagoir says. 

"You think I've never fought demons before?" Tom says. 

"Don't you worry about us," Rispy adds. "We can handle this, alright." 

"And who are you?" Greagoir wonders. 

"Grey Wardens, and allies," I say. "Including three mages, two templars, and some of the finest warriors I have had the privilege to fight alongside." 

"Grey Wardens?" Greagoir says. "Brought in from elsewhere, I assume. They certainly weren't recruited here." 

"I'm from Kirkwall," Tom says, "and the lady here," he gestures to Morrigan, "is Orlesian." 

"Indeed," Morrigan agrees smoothly. 

"I see," Greagoir says. "If you believe you can do it, then I will not stop you from trying. However, know that these doors must remain closed. Once you are inside, I will not allow anyone to leave until the First Enchanter comes and assures me that the tower is safe again. If Irving has fallen, then all is lost." 

"You're resting a lot on one person," I say. "I _know_ at least five mages are alive in there, and that's just the ones that know the spell that can contact me. And Kirlin and Gellert aren't foolish enough to allow themselves to become possessed. Surely you don't intend to kill them too just because they had the misfortune of being caught up in this mess." 

Greagoir sighs. "No, I do not. Now, go, if you are going. Salvage what can still be salvaged, and burn the rest. We will continue to hold the line here and ensure that nothing gets out of this tower and into the world outside. May the Maker watch over you." 

I give a nod, and turn toward the heavy doors leading into the rest of the tower. The templars open them just long enough to allow us past, and then slam them shut once we're inside. 

"In for a bit, in for a sovereign," Tom comments as we head in. 

The area just past the doors is quiet. Too quiet, and strewn with blood and bodies -- mages, templars, and twisted abominations. As we pass by the apprentice quarters, I think I might recognize some of the dead, but I don't want to get close enough to check. This entire situation makes me feel sick. I should have come sooner. Maybe I should have never left. Maybe I could have stopped all this, somehow. 

I take a deep breath and try to shake off the guilt. That won't help anyone here. There are survivors, at least. I must do what I can to help them, if nothing else. Kirlin said that she and a handful of other mages had holed up on the first floor some ways past the main doors. There shouldn't be any abominations between here and their barricade, but I remain on alert nonetheless. 

There they are. In a room with a shimmering blue shield blocking the door leading into the rest of the tower, guarded by Kirlin's dove patronus like a silver beacon of hope. There's Kirlin, Wynne, a few other mages, and a couple of children. 

"You certainly took your sweet time in coming to help," Kirlin says. 

"We came as soon as we could," I say. "Redcliffe had an undead infestation. I don't see Anders here. Did he not make it?" 

"He escaped again a few days before this all went down," Kirlin says. "Lucky him." 

"I'm surprised the templars let you through," Wynne says. "Do they plan to kill us all?" 

"The Right of Annulment hasn't arrived yet, don't worry," I say. "And we can deal with this before they have to resort to those sorts of measures. Do you know how this happened?" 

"There was something of a revolt, led by a mage named Uldred," Wynne says. "After he returned from Ostagar, he tried to take over the Circle. You can see how well that worked out." 

"How foolish," Morrigan says. "And he was consorting with demons as well?" 

"I would not have thought it of him, but it seems that is what we are reduced to," Wynne says. "However, I refuse to lose what we have left to one man's foolishness." 

I give a nod. "Don't worry, Wynne. We can still salvage what we can. You guys can continue to hold the line here. My companions and I will cleanse the tower and send anymore survivors we find to you." 

"You are not leaving me behind this time, Lexen," Kirlin says. 

"If the Circle is truly lost, I would see it for myself," Wynne adds. 

I sigh. "What about the children?" 

"Petra and Kinnon can watch them," Wynne says. "If we kill any monsters we encounter along the way, none of them should get by this far." 

"You go out of your way to help these mindless mages who allow themself to be penned in like sheep," Morrigan says to me. 

"You could have ended up here yourself, you know," I say. "If things had only been a little different." 

"My mother told me that things are the way they are because they could not have been any other way," Morrigan says. "I never believed her." 

I chuckle softly, and nod to her. "You have the right of it. The only certainty in the world is change. And one little thing done differently, and the world could spiral out of control into something completely unrecognizable." 

Wesley steps up and says to Morrigan, "I do not believe you are actually from the Orlesian Circle of Magi." 

"I am not," Morrigan replies. 

"She's an apostate who was recruited into the Grey Wardens to help with the Blight," I say. "She has unique talents unknown to the Circle which may prove useful against darkspawn." 

"Knowing when to hold her tongue is not one of them, however," Alistair comments. 

"Alright, here's what we're going to do," I say. "These narrow corridors aren't conducive to a large group moving about together. We're going to split up to look into every room, search for survivors, and ensure that there are no creatures hiding anywhere. Tom, Rispy, Morrigan, Kirlin, you're with me." 

Padfoot barks, loping up next to me and giving me a plaintive look. 

"And Padfoot, of course," I say. "Wynne, you can go and give magic and healing support to Wesley, Aveline, Alistair, Leliana, and Sten. My team will go and clear the corridors. The second team will come behind us and search the rooms, and make sure that we didn't miss anything." 

"Very well," Wynne says. "That is acceptable." 

Wynne brings down the barrier, and we move out beyond the room. Kirlin's Patronus flits alongside us protectively. 

"Is the Patronus very helpful against demons?" I ask. 

Kirlin nods. "It's not perfect, but it does seem to help in warding them off." 

"Let's summon ours, then," I say. I pull out my wand and think of the rainbow after the storm. " _Expecto Patronum._." 

My duck zips out to guard us, joined momentarily by Tom's snake. I really don't care about keeping these sorts of abilities quiet and discreet anymore. It hardly seems like it matters, now. We start down the corridor and beat back a small group of abominations. 

"You will need to teach me that spell sometime," Morrigan says. "It seems useful." 

"It is," I say. "Although it took me years to master it." I grin faintly. "I'll teach you my spells if you teach me yours. I know plenty more than this one that you're no doubt unfamiliar with, too." 

"Twould seem to be a reasonable deal to me," Morrigan says. 

"Kirlin tried to teach us that spell, although we weren't able to manage it just yet, either," Wynne says, coming up behind us. "I wish you had told us when you discovered it. We might have been able to practice it more." 

"Try using this as a focus," I say, offering her my wand. "A staff just isn't suitable for delicate casting. And think of a happy memory. Something positive. Hope, love, joy." 

Wynne carefully copies the wand movements that we'd just demonstrated, and says, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " A silvery light emerges. "Well, it's more than I was able to get before." 

"I do not see what one can find to be happy about living in a prison like this," Morrigan comments as Wynne tries it a few more times. 

"If I were you, Wynne," Kirlin says quietly, "I'd be happy just to be alive, after that brush you had earlier." 

"Hmm," Wynne says thoughtfully, and then says, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " 

A shifting silver light emerges from the wand, and after a moment, it takes shape into wings. A bird Patronus looks around with enormous eyes. 

"An owl," Tom says, nodding. 

"Congratulations," I say as Wynne hands my wand back to me. 

"Thank you for the assistance," Wynne says. "I think I got the trick to it and may be able to manage it on my own now." 

Wynne goes off with her own group to clear out a side area, her owl Patronus leading the way against the demons. She must be _very_ light-oriented if she was able to manage that spell so quickly. It took Anders much longer than Kirlin to learn it, and he could only ever do it with the help of a wand. Jowan could never cast it at all. 

"It surely cannot be that difficult, if the old woman was able to cast it so readily," Morrigan says. 

We work at clearing out the demon infestation in the library. The place is a mess, with bookshelves overturned and tomes strewn out across the floor, many of them likely damaged beyond repair. What a waste. 

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," Morrigan says once the immediate group of enemies is dispatched. Nothing proceeds to happen. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " she says more forcefully. Still nothing. "Bah. Give me the wand." 

I shrug and hand it over to her to let her try. She makes a few attempts, but doesn't get more than the barest flicker. She snorts in disgust and passes it back to me. 

"I shall practice it more later," Morrigan says. "We have demons to battle now." 

We continue up the stairs, fighting our way through anything that attacks us along the way. Including a group of mages who fling themselves at us as though we're their coming doom. I'd really rather not have to kill anyone just for wanting to be free, and they at least don't _look_ possessed even if they are. 

"Try not to hurt them too badly," I say. "I want some answers." 

Once the group is subdued, one of them says, "Please, don't kill me!" 

"If you didn't want to be killed, why did you attack us?" Tom says. "We're obviously not templars come to slaughter everyone." 

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen," says the woman. "We just wanted to be free. Uldred said that Loghain would support us and help us to be free from the Chantry." 

"So how in the Fade did that turn into the tower being overrun by demons?" I say, glad that Alistair isn't here to hear this. He'd probably think mage freedom would be a strike _against_ Loghain rather than for him. 

"I don't know," she says. "We... the blood magic was just a means to an end. We knew change could never come peacefully, so we wanted to take the first step toward freedom. Surely you know how horrible it was to live here, the templars always watching, waiting for us to set one toe out of line?" 

"Indeed, and I agree completely," I say. 

"How is turning to forbidden magic a reasonable means to an end?" Kirlin says. "This cannot end well." 

"Their desire for freedom is commendable," Morrigan says. "They would shake off their yoke by any means necessary. I would have done no less, were I in their position." 

"Look," I say. "We still need to clean up this mess. There's a barricade set up on the first floor. You can head down there with the other mages. And don't mention your involvement in this. Just say you were lucky to survive. They won't know the difference." 

"Thank you," says the woman. "Thank you for your mercy." 

We move on down the main corridor, leaving the side rooms for the second team to clear out. I would imagine that Uldred can probably be found at the top of the tower. Where else would he be? He's certainly not going to be scrabbling around in the stockroom. 

The central chamber on the next floor very nearly makes me stagger when we step into it from the smell alone. Rotting, diseased flesh seems to cling to the floor, the pillars, the statues. But I focus and try to put it out of mind, and attack the creatures in the room. They must be dealt with first. Once they're gone, however, I don't have that distraction to keep my mind off the room around me. I feel sick, my stomach roiling a little in nausea. 

"Ugh, what happened here?" Kirlin says. "This place is horrific." 

"Let's go find Gellert," I say. "He said he was on the next floor up from here." 

Sure enough, not far from the top of the stairs, I see the silvery light of Gellert's phoenix Patronus. A little mouse scurries up to me and scrabbles into my pocket. 

"Ah, much better," Mouse murmurs. "Bad enough you're all using those happy spirits, but at least I can get some strength back from you." 

"Gellert's not good enough for you?" I say with a smirk. 

"Connection with you is stronger," Mouse replies, settling in with a contented sigh. 

"I'm damned glad to see you," Gellert says, grinning. "Good thing I'm carrying enough food to last for a year." 

"Should've come with me," I say. "You could've been out fighting darkspawn and undead, instead of demons." 

"That's a great improvement," Gellert says. 

"You can explain later what's up with the talking mouse," Kirlin says. "Or I think I just don't care at the moment, anyway. Have you seen any other survivors on this floor?" 

"Well, there's a templar next door," Gellert says. "But he's got a desire demon latched onto him. I left them alone. I didn't see any point in fighting that battle, and she wasn't inclined to bother me." 

"How horrible!" Kirlin says. "We have to help him!" 

"He didn't want to be helped, Kirlin," Gellert says. "Let's just go. I'm pretty sure the one behind all this is on the top floor, but I don't know what his numbers or defenses are like, I'm afraid." 

"If they're still here when the second team comes through, they'll probably deal with it violently," I say. 

As we pass by the door to the room containing the desire demon and her templar pet, Mouse calls out, "Hey, toots! Better look out, there's a group coming after this one that's cleansing the tower. Better not still be here when they get here, if you want to keep your toy!" 

"Thank you for the warning, Mouse," the desire demon replies in a sultry manner. Can desire demons do _anything_ that isn't in a sultry manner? 

"You just called a desire demon 'toots'," I comment as we pass down the corridor. 

"So I did," Mouse says. "I blame Gellert." 

"A reasonable figure to blame in many things," I say dryly. 

"No kidding," Mouse says. "He thought it would be funny to make me a mouse again, too." 

"How did you hold out up here for so long, Gellert?" Kirlin asks. 

"Oh, it wasn't so difficult," Gellert says. "I just summoned a pride demon and made it clear that I just wanted to be left alone to study, so only the really stupid ones bothered me." 

Kirlin stares at him. "Sometimes I'm not sure whether you are joking or not." 

"You really just sat around reading the entire time?" I say. 

Gellert snorts softly. "It was the perfect opportunity to sneak into a few of the higher enchanters' offices and see what they were hiding away. I found some very interesting things in Irving's office, let me tell you." 

"You're going to have to share when this is over with," Tom says. 

"Yeah," I say. "We can all gather up and do a magic exchange. It'll be great." 

"But first, we have to save the tower, most importantly," Kirlin says. 

"Of course," I say. 

I open the door to the next room and step inside. An abomination stands in the middle of the room, next to the body of a mage. 

"Ah, I see I have visitors," the abomination says. "Why don't you come in and rest? You are so weary, aren't you?" 

"I... I am..." I find myself saying, staggering on my feet. My Patronus is no use in protecting me from something like this. 

"Resist!" Tom says. "It's a demon! You must fight it!" 

I try to bring forth my Occlumency lessons to force the demon out of my mind. But I can't focus. I can't concentrate. I was _already_ tired before even coming near this creature. 

"There is no use in fighting," the sloth demon says. "Why do you fight what you really want? Come. Relax. Have you not earned it? You are so very tired, and so much has been asked of you. Close your eyes, lay down, and rest. The world will go on without you..." 

Weariness presses down upon my mind, as if weeks of too little sleep are catching up to me in an instant. I find myself falling down into darkness. I don't even feel myself hit the floor. 


	16. Dreaming of Demons

"Lexen!" Cassie says, smiling warmly at me, dark hair swirling around her in the wind. She holds her hand out to me across the sunlit meadow. Her eyes are bright, and her face is young -- beautiful and eternal. 

"Cassie..." I whisper, taking her hand and pulling her close to me. 

"Stay with me, my love," Cassie says. "Never leave me again. Stay with me forever..." 

"Yes..." I murmur, clutching her to me, burying her face in my chest. If this is a dream, then it is a good dream. 

I lay down with Cassie on the soft bed, content for the moment to just lay there and rest my head upon her breast. Nothing in the multiverse could budge me from where I am right now. 

"Lexen!" says a smaller voice behind me. 

"Leave me alone," I mutter. "Not. Moving." 

"Lexen, you are in the Fade, and you're laying your head on the chest of a demon who _looks_ like a human woman," says Mouse, scurrying up onto the bed beside me. 

"Don't bother me," I murmur. "I don't want to go anywhere." 

"What, you're content to waste away in the Fade and let them drain your soul?" Mouse says. "Well, I'm not going to let you." 

The little mouse transforms, its shape growing into a massive demon. With huge, clawed hands, it pulls me and Cassie apart. 

"What are you doing?!" I cry, reaching out for Cassie. 

"You are interrupting a beautiful, intimate moment!" Cassie says in a voice that suddenly sounds nothing like Cassie. 

"You are _mine_ , and I'm not about to let some upstart sloth demon encroach upon my territory," the pride demon growls. 

Claws like long knives rake down upon Cassie. Screaming. No, I'm the one screaming, not Cassie. Cassie, her face bleeding, torn apart, rent by long, ragged wounds. Cassie, dying before my very eyes. No, no, no. I don't want to watch her die. Not again. Never again. I don't want to lose her again. 

Electricity crackles around me. Rage and despair course through my veins, burning and sizzling. My vision clouds as I turn all my hate upon this foul creature who took my love away from me. 

"How dare you!" I shriek, grappling with the pride demon. 

"Be still, you fool!" the demon rumbles. "Whoever that woman was to you, that was _not_ her!" 

"I will have my vengeance!" I scream. 

The huge demon swats at me with its large hand, sending me flying against the far wall. 

"Think for a moment!" the creature roars, thundering up to loom above me. "Do you remember how you got here?" 

The words and impact jar me, and I blink for a moment as I look out at the landscape, away from the bloody corpse of my beloved. There's only one wall, and a large, fluffy bed sits at the edge of a flowering meadow. Something... doesn't seem quite right about this all. 

"I'm not sure," I murmur. 

"What were you doing before you came here?" the demon insists. "Think!" 

"I... I was in the Circle Tower," I say after a moment. "I was so tired... Fuck, this is the Fade, isn't it..." 

"Finally," Mouse says, voice losing its demonic edge as he shrinks and shifts into the form of a rodent again. 

"What happened?" I wonder. "There was a demon... A sloth demon?" 

"Indeed," Mouse says. "You and your companions are trapped in the Fade now." 

I snort softly. "So much for entering the Fade requiring a lot of lyrium or a blood sacrifice." 

"I think we've established that Jowan is kind of an idiot," Mouse says. "But you mortals always like to make things more difficult and complicated than they need to be. I think it's something of an obsession of yours, really." 

"If the others are here, I've got to find them," I say. "If that's the sort of dream the sloth demon gave _me_ , who knows what the others might have landed in? They might not even realize it or want to get out themselves." 

"And then I'm going to kick that sloth demon's ass for daring to mess with my toys," Mouse says. "I am a pride demon! No one touches my toys!" 

"Under other circumstances, I might object to being called a 'toy'," I say with a smirk. "But I have more pressing concerns at the moment." 

I try not to look at the bloody corpse, at Cassie's ruined face. I know now that it's not really her. There's no way it could really be her. Cassie withered and aged before my eyes and died of old age, refusing Time Magic to keep her young, rejecting immortality. This is not her. This is just a demon who cruelly took my beloved's face to torment me. But I still don't want to look at it. 

"How did you get in here, anyway?" I ask, looking pointedly away from the spectacle and at my companion instead. 

"The sloth demon pulled me in along with everyone else. The mouse is asleep. I don't think he realized that I was inside." 

Not far away, there's a strange pedestal that I had not noticed before. I approach it curiously, then turn and gather up the little mouse and place him upon my shoulder. 

"Alright, Mouse," I say. "You're the expert on the Fade here. I'm going to call in our bargain, and expect as much guidance and information here as you can give." 

"Certainly," Mouse says. "These pedestals will allow you to travel to different parts of the Fade. No doubt each of your companions is trapped in their own section. The sloth demon is probably in a section of his own, as well, and is doubtless well-guarded. Touch this pedestal, and we can leave this dream and see where it takes us." 

"You don't know?" I ask. 

"Of course not," Mouse says. "The Fade is ever-changing. Once, a group of mortals spent a lot of time and effort attempting to map the Fade. Foolish, as they soon realized that soon the landscape was different than they remembered, and all connections between the places they had visited had shifted." 

"Alright," I say. "Let's see where we're going, then." 

I touch the pedestal, and my vision shifts and blurs for a moment with a vaguely wrenching sensation. When I can focus again, I find myself in a new area, with a man in mage robes ahead of me. I vaguely recognize him as a mage named Niall. I'd spoken with him before, while in the tower. 

"Who are you?" Niall demands. "Another demon, come to torment me? I recognize you. You are the apprentice who left to become a Grey Warden, aren't you? The one who attacked the templars and destroyed all those phylacteries? How did you, of all people, wind up here?" 

"I came to help when I heard there was trouble at the tower," I say. "You got out of your own trap, I take it?" 

"I thought I had, at least," Niall says. "But I've been able to get no further. I've been wandering these empty places for what seems like a lifetime. My body in the real world is probably already dead, starved and drained of life to feed that damned demon." 

"Probably," Mouse agrees. 

"What happened?" I ask. 

"I was trying to save the Circle, but I encountered the sloth demon and became trapped in here instead," Niall says. "I knew Uldred was on the upper floor, in the Harrowing Chamber, and had a number of other mages held hostage up there. I was trying to get to him with the Litany of Adralla, to protect them from mind control from blood magic. It's too late now, though. Everyone's dead, or trapped in here and soon will be." 

"Don't give up hope that easily," I say. "Everyone isn't dead yet. I'm certainly not, and _I_ am not going to fall prey to a mere sloth demon like this." 

"No, there is no hope," Niall goes on. "You are trapped here as much as I am. I tried to explore, at first. But there were paths I could see, but could not get to. They taunted me, knowing that I could not escape. That I could never escape." 

"Hmm," Mouse says thoughtfully, hopping down from my shoulder to scurry about and poke around. "Clever, clever, but not clever enough." 

"What is it, Mouse?" I ask. 

"I think I see how the sloth demon has this region of the Fade set up," Mouse says. "He's made it so you need to change shape in order to get anywhere. You probably need to go through several different forms into order to penetrate his lair. Most mortals have trouble changing form at all, even in the Fade, so they'd never be able to threaten him." 

"See?" Niall says, clearly not seeing the least bit strange in a talking mouse. No doubt there's stranger things in the Fade, anyway. "It's hopeless. Impossible. There's no way to escape." 

"You can give up if you like," I say. " _I'm_ not going to, however." 

"Of course you can do it," Mouse says. "If anyone can, you can. You're the greatest mage in the world, right?" 

"That I am," I say with a broad grin. "So, perhaps you can teach me to turn into a mouse, then?" 

"Yes..." Niall says. "A mouse! I saw little holes, too small to get through. Maybe if you were tiny like a mouse, you'd be able to get around more." 

"I thought you'd given up, Niall," I say. 

"I just... I don't know," Niall says. "Maybe you can get out. Go on. Save the world. There's no hope for me." 

I snort softly. "Fine, I'll do that, then." 

Mouse heads down the path away from him some ways, and I follow after. "Certainly don't need his fatalism around when I'm trying to teach you." 

"If he really wants to die, then so be it," I say with a shrug. "So how do I change shape? How can I become a mouse?" 

"Most humans are too attached to their forms to change shape," Mouse says. "They can't break away from themselves and their identities to become anything else." 

"So it's like putting on a mask for a play," I say. "You become someone else for the duration, speaking like them, moving like them, thinking like them." 

"Something like that," Mouse says. "To be a mouse, you must understand the mouse. Small, inconspicuous, able to get into the smallest places, to hide and never be caught." 

"How did a pride demon ever manage to be a mouse?" I wonder with a grin. 

"Hey, I'm good, aren't I?" Mouse replies. "And pride isn't all about being larger than life and in your face about everything. There's treachery and deception, in playing a trick on someone and not being caught." 

"I see what you mean," I say, chuckling. "Alright, a mouse..." 

I watch Mouse for a few moments, thinking of the shape and the feeling of what it must be like to be a mouse. Then, I _will_ myself to be a mouse. To be small, to hide and poke my whiskers into every little space. Concentrate. Focus. The world spins, and then suddenly seems much larger. 

This is disorienting. I panic for a moment, scrabbling about. I feel so small and afraid. My claws scratch against the ground. My whiskers twitch, my tail swishes. 

"You did it, Lexen!" Mouse says. "Well done indeed. I knew you could do it. You are truly a great mage." 

"Nah," I reply. "I'm just a little mouse." I chuckle. "Let's see what we can manage, shall we? That sloth demon won't know what hit him." 

I shift back into human form, and then back to the mouse experimentally one more time before back to human and heading toward the pedestal where we came in. Now that I know how to do it, it seems almost easy. It's like putting on a mask, slipping into and out of a role. And I was very _good_ at acting when I finally got the hang of it, when I put my mind to it. 

The thing is, I'm _always_ acting. I'm always in one role or another. Everything is always carefully constructed to ensure that no one finds out my secrets, because horrible things have a tendency of happening if the wrong people find out about the fact that I'm from another world, or the specifics of my time travel powers. I wind up with people trying to stun me rather than kill me, to capture me and torture me repeatedly... Things might have worked out alright in the end, but for the most part, it simplifies things greatly if people think me just another random native. 

We wander through nightmares, in and out of dreams, exploring what we can and getting a feel for the lay of the land. Templars dreaming of the tower overrun by abominations, quite accurate given the current state of things. Mages having nightmares of the tower on fire and being purged by templars. Another templar is having a nightmare of the darkspawn invasion, and another mage of the tower at war with itself. 

It would appear that Mouse's assessment of the situation is accurate as well. There are places that are blocked by walls of flame, or massive doors that cannot be budged, and others that I can see but can't quite touch. 

"Now that's clever, too," Mouse says. "These ones can only be touched by spirits. Clearly the sloth demon wanted to make sure that, even if a mortal capable of shapeshifting in the Fade were to come along, only actual spirits would be able to get through." 

"Damn," I say. "Well, you'll be able to get through those, but what about me? I can't exactly become a spirit." 

"Can't, you say," Mouse says. "This is the Fade. The only thing that matters is will and belief. All things are possible if you believe they are possible and have the will to accomplish them." 

"How can I be a spirit, though?" I wonder. 

"The same way that you can be a mouse, and then a bit further. You have to think like a spirit. Be a part of the Fade, in tune with the essence of thought, dream, and magic all around you." 

"Can I really do this?" I ask. 

"Don't doubt yourself!" Mouse snaps. "Of course you can. I wouldn't have suggested it if you couldn't. You're the greatest mage that ever lived, remember?" 

"If the Fade is based on will and belief, I can see why pride demons are considered the strongest type of demon," I say thoughfully. 

Mouse chuckles in a deep rumble as he shifts form, growing into a massive demon. "Yes, and you, too, can be like me." 

This one is going to be hard for me. Or maybe it's not so much that it's hard but that I believe it to be hard. But it amounts to the same thing, here, doesn't it? Still, I trust Mouse, and I believe what he says. How did it come to be that I trust this demon as much as I do? 

I look over the pride demon. I think about his form, his shape, his strength and power. But more importantly, I think about what it means to _be_ a spirit. I can't be thinking that I can't do this. I have to believe that it's possible. 

And I will not accept failure as an option. I _will_ do this. 

I reach out with my senses, with my magic, with my very being. If I were a spirit of some sort, I would surely be a pride demon. Much as I like to think better of myself, being perfectly and completely honest, it's pride that defines me most. I'm gleefully hypocritical when it suits me. I say I like to save lives, and then delight in ending them when I wish. I claim to fight for freedom for all beings, and yet that is a futile fantasy. It is only my own freedom that truly matters to me, isn't it? 

There's a deep rumbling chuckle. "See, I told you you could do it." 

I look down at myself, and realize that I've become taller, larger, broader. I've become a monster. A rush of panic floods through me, far worse than it had been for turning into a mouse. The world spins, and everything suddenly seems bigger. 

"No, no," the pride demon says. "Be a demon, not a mouse. You had it there for a moment. What happened?" 

"It... it scared me," I say hesitantly, somewhat embarrassed. 

"Why should you be afraid of being powerful? Why be afraid of yourself, and what you are capable of?" 

I take a deep breath. "You're right." 

Focusing, steeling my heart and my soul, I let myself shift back into the demon form. To accept it, embrace it, to let it define me. There's no doubt in my mind that I _can_ do it, now. It's just that I'm not entirely certain that I like it. But no matter. Now is not the time for existential questions. 

"Excellent," Mouse says. "There you go. You can be a demon, just like me. You can see this door now? You can touch it?" 

I reach out a massive, clawed hand and open the door that had previously seemed not quite real or solid to me before. Now, I can go through, and explore more of the sloth demon's domain. 

We fight our way past demons, templars, abominations, crazed mages. "Mouse," I say. "What are these people in the Fade here? Are they demons, spirits, or actual people who are asleep, or what?" 

"Most of them are minor spirits of various sorts," Mouse explains. "There certainly aren't this many sleepers in the tower at the moment. Only a handful of them are mortals who have become trapped here." 

"How can I tell the difference?" I ask. 

"If they're so far gone that they attack you on sight, it hardly matters, does it?" Mouse says. "And if they speak to you, they might be trying to trick you, even if they look like a friend. But you can tell the difference. Feel their essence. Taste their being. Spirits tend to be simple beings, focused upon a single idea. Mortals are complicated, complex, contradictory creatures." 

"I see." 

How long will I be wandering the Fade? It doesn't really matter. I'm patient, and making good progress. Mouse's guidance and assistance has proven to be invaluable. I wouldn't have gotten half as far as I have without him. Maybe making a deal with a demon wasn't such a bad thing after all. 

But there are still places that we can't get to. "Hmm," I say. "We need to figure out a way past these walls off fire. And how to open these big, heavy doors?" Even in the form of a pride demon, they refuse to be budged. 

"Need another form for those," Mouse says thoughtfully. 

"Rage demons are immune to fire, aren't they?" I ask. 

"They are," Mouse says. "Or more accurate to say that they _are_ fire." 

"If I can turn into a pride demon, why not a rage demon?" I say. 

"Do you think you can do that?" Mouse says. "Why not? I think you could!" 

Pride is not all that defines me, and certainly not the only vice that I am guilty of. Rage is something I know all too well at times, the anger and fury to kill and destroy. That pure bloodlust is what comes out every time I get into a fight. I think of killing, and the world disappears, only myself and my enemy matter. 

Yes, burning rage, like the edge of a blade... I _am_ rage! 

"You're getting quite the hang of this," Mouse says. 

I'm on fire. I _am_ fire, but it doesn't burn. It doesn't feel hot. And yet, it does. I am burning, I burn, burning defines me, but the burning feels good, like a heartbeat. It no more hurts me than warm blood flowing through my veins would hurt me. 

"Maybe I'm more flexible than some might have given me credit for," I say, chuckling. 

"Perhaps that's one advantage a mortal might have," Mouse says. "A spirit could never become another type of spirit, not without changing the very essence that makes us what we are. But a mortal is defined by many emotions, many ideas, many parts. Still, it's a demonstration of your great will and talent that you are able to do this at all." 

"Careful, you'll make me turn into a pride demon again," I say, going to continue to explore the Fade realm. 

"I have to ask, though, how is it that you are able to control your rage so well?" Mouse asks. "Most mortals I have seen can't just get angry without anything to make them angry, and when they're angry, they're out of control. And yet even as a rage demon, you're still in control." 

"Magic is fueled by emotion, too," I say. "Many spells require a certain emotional state to be able to cast properly, or make them much more effective. My lightning magic comes to me as naturally as breathing, but anger and hate makes it more powerful. Too _much_ uncontrolled anger and hate, however, will overcharge it to the point of killing me. So... I had to learn control." 

"Hmm, I see," Mouse says. "That makes a lot of sense. I wonder why more mages don't do that?" 

"I don't know," I say. "I get the impression that every group that practices magic only understands a small part of it. So I've been trying to piece together the full picture, one piece at a time." 

I go up to one of the barriers of flame, and find that now, I am able to pass through it easily without getting hurt. Mouse, however, remains on the other side. 

"Sorry, can't follow you through there," Mouse says. "You'll have to solve whatever's on the other side on your own." 

I go through, and face one of the sloth demon's lieutenants. Not a problem. It's nothing that rage and destruction cannot solve. My enemy was not expecting to be attacked suddenly by a rage demon, especially not one more powerful than it. Soon enough, I have burned my enemies into nothingness. 

I return to meet up with Mouse again, and we move on, exploring where we can and experimentally trying to open one of the huge doors. It's no use, however. Only a massive, incredibly strong creature could open these doors. Even with our combined strength and all of my magic, they refuse to open. 

"I would generally think that this would be sufficient," I say. 

"In the physical world, perhaps," Mouse says. "But this is the Fade. Things don't always necessarily need to follow the same rules." 

"This would be so much easier if I were a dragon," I say. 

"A dragon? Hmm, that might be big and strong enough to manage it, although you wouldn't be able to fit through the doorway afterward. You'd just have to push it open and then change into something small enough to get through, I suppose. Why a dragon, anyway?" 

"Because I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood," I say. "It is the blood of dragons that flows through my veins. I'd think that I'm as much dragon as human, aren't I?" 

"Certainly," Mouse says. "If you say you're a dragon, I'm certainly not going to be one to argue. You're a dragon, then. So be a dragon. Become a dragon. Be what you were always meant to be." 

_What I was always meant to be..._

Dragons. The most beautiful, magnificent creatures ever to grace the earth and skies. Masters of wind and flame. Children of the storm. Gleaming scales, powerful talons, and wings that spread out over the sky. Wings that catch the air beneath them and fly. _Fly_ , under their own power, graceful as a summer's breeze, stronger than a hurricane. 

I am the Stormseeker! _I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood_. According to legend, those of my bloodline are capable of transforming into dragons. Old, half-forgotten legends. But who is to say that they aren't true? 

What is the essence of being a dragon? There is power and pride, to be sure, but there is also beauty and grace. A desire for knowledge, a hunger for wealth. Rage to strike down one's enemies, those who dare to violate one's lair. And above all... 

Flight. Fire and wind. Thunder and storm. _Wings_... 

"Impressive," says Mouse. "Not to put a damper on this or anything, but you do realize that only female dragons have wings, don't you?" 

I snort softly, and stretch my long neck to look at myself. Shimmering indigo scales line my long, serpentine body, and azure wings adorn my back. Because I deemed them necessary to be there. What is a dragon without wings? 

"If I'm changing into another species anyway, I fail to see how gender is much of an obstacle," I reply. 

I don't think the dragons in my own world worked that way, anyway. Different types of dragons, perhaps. It hardly matters. It's not like I care whether I turned into a male or a female dragon. Like I'm going to mate in this form or anything? 

We make our way through each section of the Fade much more easily now. Although I can't get through doorways in that form, I can easily smash the doors open. And nothing we face can stand against the might of a dragon. One by one, Sloth's lieutenants fall, opening the way before me. 

With the routes through the Fade open, I'm able to locate the nightmares in which my companions have been trapped. I head in to see if I can free them from whatever situations they've become ensnared in. 

The first one I come across looks like an underground city, populated by dwarves. "Paragon Rispy, it would appear that we have visitors," says one dwarf. 

"Surfacers," spits another dwarf. "They have no place in Orzammar." 

"Be still," Rispy says. "There is a place for all in Orzammar. You would have said not so very long ago that there was no place for _me_ in this city, as well." 

"Yes, Paragon," the dwarf says. "You are right, of course." 

"Rispy," I say, smirking as I look around me. "Is this a dream or a nightmare?" 

"It's reality," Rispy says. "They finally recognized me and raised me to Paragon after I defeated the archdemon. From casteless to king in one swift step. It's about time they acknowledged my worth." 

"Is that what you really want?" I say. "To sit on a throne and play politics? What of adventuring, of battle? What of freedom?" 

Rispy blinks for a moment. "You... yeah, you're right. This isn't me." 

"Don't listen to him," says one of the dwarves. "Stay here with us, our beloved Paragon." 

"Stay with me, brother," a female dwarf says. "Please, don't abandon me again." 

"She's not your sister, Rispy," I say. "It's a demon." 

Rispy takes a deep breath and nods. "I see. Sorry, Rica. I don't know if you're real or not, but either way, I can't stay. This has to end." 

The dwarves, seeing their prey about to escape, transform into demons and attack us, discarding any idea of subtlety. We quickly slay them without fanfare. 

"Let's find the others," Rispy says, his expression hard. "Wait, what's happening?" Rispy's image shimmers and vanishes. 

"Where did he go?" I wonder. 

"The sloth demon probably realized he'd gotten out of his dream and pulled him away," Mouse says. 

"Why didn't he do that to me?" 

"You're too strong-willed," Mouse says. "Also, you do have me, after all. He can't do anything to another spirit." 

The next nightmare we come across, Morrigan is berating her mother. When I hear what the spirit pretending to Flemeth is saying, I realize why and just have to laugh. 

"I am your mother!" says not-Flemeth. "Do you not love me?" 

"There you are," Morrigan says, looking to me. "I wondered how long it would take you to arrive. Come and rid me of this vexatious spirit at once, that we might get on with things already." 

"Right away, my dear," I say brightly, transforming into a dragon and neatly squishing the fake Flemeth. 

"Well, that was a fine trick," Morrigan says with a grin. "Now-- Wait, not this again!" Her form becomes indistinct, and she disappears. 

Next, we locate Kirlin's nightmare. She... appears to be laying in bed with the templar, Cullen. Well, that was unexpected. 

"Kirlin, I hate to interrupt, but that's not Cullen," I say. 

Kirlin mumbles something unintelligibly. 

"How dare you barge in on a private moment like this?" Cullen says. "Here I gave up my vows to be with a mage, and now we can't even get a moment alone?" 

"Kirlin, this is a demon," I say, not about to say a thing about her taste in men. "Snap out of it. Think about what we were doing and how we got here. The tower was overrun by abominations. Remember?" 

"I... I remember," Kirlin murmurs. "Gah!" She pulls the bedsheets around her like a makeshift robe. "Get away from me, demon!" 

Cullen drops the act and turns to attack, and we don't hesitate to destroy him. 

"Now-- Hey, don't take me away yet!" Kirlin says as she starts to vanish. "At least let me put some clothes on..." 

Then we come upon Gellert's dream. He is in a vast library, reading with Albus Dumbledore. Aberforth and a girl I don't recognize are nearby, playing wizard chess. 

"Gellert?" I say to get his attention. 

"Huh?" Gellert says, looking up at me. "Who are you?" 

"Remember me?" I say. "Lexen? We were in the Circle Tower?" 

Gellert frowns as if trying hard to think with great effort, like slogging through thick mud. 

"Nonsense, my love," Albus says, putting his hand on top of Gellert's. "He's just trying to steal you away from me." 

"That's a demon, Gellert," I say. "Don't listen." 

"You would take him from us?" Albus says. "His family?" 

"If you were really Albus, you'd be able to cast a phoenix Patronus," I say. 

"You dare to make me prove myself to you?" Albus says. 

"Why not?" Gellert says. "Just do it and let's see who is the fool, then." 

The demons who are pretending to be the Dumbledores have clearly had enough, as they rise up and attack at this point. Gellert, Mouse, and I subdue them in moments. Weak, minor spirits. No real threat, except in trickery. 

"Thanks for that," Gellert says. "Oh, come on..." He vanishes like mist. 

Then, we come across Padfoot, sleeping sounding. Is he actually dreaming about sleeping? Actually, that sounds like a perfectly fine dream to me. I go over and shake him awake. The dog barks happily and runs off, vanishing after a moment. 

When we locate Tom's dream, it seems that he has already dealt with matters and is examining the Fade pedestal when we arrive. 

"Ah, there you are, my dear," Tom says. "Shall we go and finish matters with the sloth demon?" 

"You already broke out of your nightmare?" I ask. "What did he try to trap you with?" 

"You," Tom replies with a shrug. "But 'you' were acting strangely, and I suspected it was an imposter, so I killed you. I took the fact that nothing happened when you died as a sign that I was either right, or something had gone very, very wrong." 

"Testing whether I'm really me by killing me seems a reasonable solution," I say lightly. 

I activate the Fade pedestal one more time to take us to the central island, where the sloth demon's lair is located. I am eager to be done with this. The sooner we're out of the Fade and can deal with Uldred, the better. 

The sloth demon is in humanoid form at the moment, like a strangely dressed human, but I'm not fooled for a moment. As I approach, my other companions shimmer into existence around me. 

"Oh, what a bother," Sloth says. "My slaves are trying to escape? No, no, you all must go back now." 

I growl. "We are _no one's_ slaves." 

"Clearly I did not do well enough," Sloth says. "Now, go back. I'll make you much happier this time. Happy enough that you will never want to leave my domain again." 

"No," I say firmly. "Freedom is more important than happiness, especially happiness built on lies." 

"Is not your entire life built upon lies?" Sloth says. "Do your friends know all the secrets you keep? No, I believe they do not." 

"I'm not listening to you, demon," Kirlin says. "I will not hear you speak ill of my friend, whatever he may have done." 

"Such loyalty," Sloth says. "But it is sorely misplaced." 

"You know nothing of me," I say. There's no way that he should. I've been using Occlumency for so long that I keep the barriers around my mind up instinctually these days. But... he knew enough to give me a dream of Cassie. What _does_ he know? And how? 

"Your friend is a blood mage, Kirlin," Sloth says. "A dark wizard. A maleficar. He delights in death and destruction, revels in killing, and thinks nothing of consorting with ones such as myself." 

"That... That's not true," Kirlin says. "That can't be true!" 

"Enough of this," Mouse rumbles, taking on demon form. "You dare to touch my playthings. I will not stand for this." 

"W--What?" Kirlin says. "Lexen, what-- what's going on?" 

"So the Grey Warden mage consorts with demons after all?" Morrigan says. "Tsk. And I had thought him wiser than that. Silly me." 

"I will tell them all your secrets, Stormseeker!" Sloth rumbles, cackling as it sweeps out of the way of the pride demon's claws. "I will tell them you're a time traveler! That you're from another world! That you're immortal! Does it surprise you that I know all that? You think your mind locked away behind wards? Oh, but your dreams, your subconscious thoughts, are clear to me as day..." 

"Alright, I think that's quite enough," I say, shifting form into a dragon. "You will release us now, or I will _make_ you release us! I will not be slave to anyone!" 

"And yet you are the slave of this pride demon..." Sloth says. 

I open my maw, and breathe a blast of thunder, wind, lightning. I don't know _how_ the blue dragons of my homeworld can breathe lightning, but it seems that I definitely do. I focus storm and rage down upon the sloth demon, and my companions join in. Whatever they might think of me after all that, they clearly think that destroying the sloth demon is a priority. 

When the sloth demon is dead, we find ourselves back in the real world, in the Circle Tower. I go over to Niall and check on his life signs. Dead already, it seems. With a sigh at being unable to save him, even if he _was_ excessively fatalistic, I take the scroll he's mentioned from his body. 

"Lexen," Kirlin says. "We're going to have a nice talk. Later." 

"Oh, yes, of that I am certain," Morrigan says lightly. 


	17. The Pride of Mages

I don't know what the second group has gotten up to in the meantime. They must still be clearing the lower floors. A quick check of the time indicates that we, indeed, were not in the Fade for nearly as long it had seemed. That's something of a relief, really. 

We move on, and along the way, I have everyone memorize the spell on the scroll Niall had found, just in case it might actually be useful. In a room near the stairs leading up to the Harrowing Chamber, we come upon a templar shielded in a circle of light. It looks like he's still moving. 

"Cullen!" Kirlin says, running up to the edge of the shield. 

"I'm not falling for your tricks again, demons!" Cullen says. "Stay back!" 

"Cullen, it's me, Kirlin. Don't you recognize me?" 

"How far they must have delved into my mind to dredge up these images, to taunt at my heart like this," Cullen replies. "To bring my shame out before me to tease at me! But no. I will stay strong. The others broke, but I will resist!" 

Kirlin falters. "Cullen?" 

"Just kill me now and end these games already!" Cullen snaps. 

"You're not going to die, Cullen," I put in. "Not if we can help it." 

"Sure, sure, save the templar, I don't care," Gellert says with a shrug. 

"Although the fact that he appears to be in love with a mage _is_ kind of amusing," Tom adds. 

"Begone!" Cullen says. "I won't listen to anything you have to say, so go away!" He clenches his eyes shut, trembling and kneeling as if in prayer, then after a moment, he looks back up at us again. "You are... still here? That always worked before. But here I close my eyes, and when I open them again, you are still here!" 

"That's because we're really here, Cullen," I say. 

Cullen sighs. "Just... ignore what I said before, then, please, if you would." 

"I would much rather keep it for blackmail material," Gellert says lightly. 

"Gellert!" Kirlin snaps. 

"But you..." He looks to me. "You came back?" He glances to the rest of us. "And you all survived? How?" 

"Strength, skill, and not being stupid," Gellert replies. "I don't care what the mages here are doing. I'm not about to turn into an abomination on a moment's notice." 

"And we're going to kill Uldred next," I say. 

"Yes... yes," Cullen says. "Kill him! Kill them all for what they've done!" 

"Do you know if Irving is still alive?" I ask. 

"I... I don't know," Cullen replies. "Uldred took him and some others up to the Harrowing Chamber. Oh, Maker, the screams I've heard coming out from there are not the worst sounds. Unearthly roars, gurgles, shrieks... Uldred's been turning them into abominations, I'm sure of it..." 

"Fuck," I mutter. 

"You can't save them now," Cullen says. "Kill them all, cleanse the tower, that we might be free of this evil at last!" 

"We can't just kill them all!" Kirlin says. 

"You don't know what they've become!" Cullen screams. "They've been up there for days, while blood mages snake their fingers into their minds, corrupting their thoughts! The only way to be certain that the tower is truly safe is to kill everyone who might be corrupted!" 

"No," I say. "We're going to go up there and kill anyone who attacks us. They'll be the ones who are both 'corrupted' as well as too dumb to live." 

"But--" Cullen begins. 

"I'm not arguing about this," I say. "And I'm not wasting anymore time discussing it while the mages are still in danger. I'm going to go and end this." 

As I turn away, Cullen sighs and says, "May the Maker guide your hand, then. And I hope that you have not doomed us all with your misplaced mercy." 

I head up the stairs into the Harrowing Chamber, steeling myself for what I might see beyond. One way or another, Uldred is going to get what is coming to him. I don't know how many of my friends have been killed because of him, but I think it's likely safe to assume that anyone who isn't with me or already out of the tower is probably dead. 

In the center of the chamber is a bald mage surrounded by three abominations, and I take the fact that they aren't attacking him or anything that this is probably Uldred. A glance to the side reveals Irving and a handful of other mages bound and scared, waiting for their turns, I suppose. 

"Ah, what is this?" Uldred says. "I recognize you. Irving's star pupil. Lexen, was it? I do not see what anyone saw in you, however. Just another mage, weak and helpless." 

"Yeah, fuck you too," I reply. 

"How vulgar," Uldred says. "No matter. I suppose one cannot be universally loved. I am, however, somewhat impressed that you are still alive. Although that does mean that you must have killed my servants." 

"The ones who were stupid enough to attack me, anyway," I say. "I think there was a desire demon that got away." I shrug. 

"Fair enough," Uldred replies. "The strong should subjugate the weak, after all, and you think yourself strong? Ah, but you could be so much greater." 

"Could I?" I reply, quirking an eyebrow. 

"Oh, yes," Uldred says. "You see, a mage is but a larval form of something greater. The Chantry, however, they would shun us and vilify us, call us _abominations_. But we have merely reached our full potential." 

"You are monsters!" Kirlin says. "How is this greatness?" 

"I could give you this gift as well," Uldred says. "All of you mages." He does not even look at the dwarf or the dog. "You have but to accept it." 

"He's right, you know," Mouse whispers into my ear, perched upon my shoulder. "We could be great together." 

My heart skips a beat, and I falter for a moment. "I don't..." 

Kirlin snorts softly. "I'd tell you not to listen to him, but after what that sloth demon said, I have to wonder just what you've been delving into as it is. So I'm just going to say, do what you want, but I _will_ kill you or die trying if you turn into an abomination." She turns and goes over to check on the other mages. 

"Stop him..." Irving rasps. "Stop Uldred... He will build an army to destroy the templars..." 

"And here I thought he was starting to turn," Uldred says. "No matter. Eventually, he will break, oh yes. And then he will serve me. As will you." 

I snort softly. "I serve _no one_." 

"Think about what I could give you," Uldred says. "You have quite a bit of raw talent, to be sure. That skill, with the strength of a demon behind it? Oh, you would be unstoppable then. You could shake the world before you, and no one would be able to stand in your way. I could give you that." 

"I don't... I don't need you to give me that," I say quietly, closing my eyes and letting out a heavy breath. 

"We need never be helpless again," Mouse whispers. "You already made a bargain with me. We are already bound. Think on it. We could sweep through world after world, and no one would be able to stop us. Destroy your enemies..." 

We could destroy Sedder, easily. Maybe even stand up to Sardill finally. And do I not trust Mouse? Has he not helped me at every turn and assisted me whenever I asked? All that power, everything he knows, could be mine. We're already bound, anyway. What do I have to lose? 

"Yes," I say simply. 

"What is that?" Uldred says coyly, quirking a grin at me. 

"I agree," I reply. 

"You will submit to me?" Uldred chuckles. 

I can feel something slipping into my body, my mind, my very soul. "No," I reply, my voice suddenly deep and rumbling. "I think not." 

My body twists like it had in the Fade, but this time I can _feel_ it. In the Fade, I was one thing one moment, and another the next, but here I have to actually experience the inbetween. It aches like it does when I change my age. And yet, it feels so _good_. I am so strong, so powerful, a massive, mighty pride demon... 

"I will not submit to _anyone_ ," I roar. " _You_ will submit to me, or I shall cast you back into the Fade to await the next mortal that might open the doors for you!" 

I don't know how much of this is me and how much is the demon. There's another voice, another presence in me, but it sings in tune with me, it feels _right_. How far have I gone that I'm only the barest step from being a demon myself? What does it say that it was so easy for me to transform into one in the Fade? 

But I cast those concerns aside. Now, I have an enemy to destroy. This upstart fool who would not submit to one of my might. At least it's a pride demon this time, and not a mere sloth demon thinking that it can get the better of me. 

I roar and attack Uldred. Tom, Gellert, and Rispy are at my side, assisting me. However, Morrigan and Kirlin attack me, along with the mages who had been restrained. It seems that Kirlin had gotten them free and slipped them some lyrium potions. 

I don't want to attack them. I don't want to hurt my friends. But they _dared_ to attack me. They made themselves my enemies. I don't know whether it's me or the demon who decided to destroy them, but I turn upon them nonetheless. 

It's not enough, however. Their spells tear me apart. I was complacent. I did not think they could actually hurt me, and did not bother a bit with defense. I go down just as Uldred did. 

* * *

I wake on the floor of the sloth demon's room, where we woke from the Fade, and sigh. That could have gone a lot better. 

"Well, it was nice while it lasted," Mouse whispers in my ear. 

"Lexen," Kirlin says, turning to fix a cold glare upon me. "We are going to need to talk. But that can wait until later. We have business to finish here first." 

No, she's not talking about the incident that just occurred. She doesn't remember that. She's referring to what the sloth demon said before we defeated him. 

I stagger to my feet and move on, acting as though nothing happened. Nothing's out of the ordinary. Tom, Gellert, and Rispy aren't going to be fooled, though, and I don't know whether Kirlin and Morrigan are going to buy it, either. 

"What happened, love?" Tom leans close and hisses to me in Parseltongue. "Was that really your choice? Was that you in control, or did something actually go wrong?" 

"That was my choice," I hiss back. "Don't ask me whether or not it was a good idea. I have no idea." 

In the end, I think, the only ones I can truly trust are those who are bound to me. Those, I've earned their trust through lifetimes, and they know that fighting against me would be foolhardy at best and suicidal at worst. 

"Perhaps I should have been less conspicuous," Mouse whispers. "Or perhaps you should have left the ones behind who you cannot trust to follow you no matter what. Such betrayal, and over what, mere principles? Prejudice? Would they hate you for being what you are? For seeking power wherever it can be found?" 

I put up a privacy charm and say quietly, "Perhaps it would be best if I _don't_ obviously turn into an abomination in front of the First Enchanter or anyone else that isn't either soulbound to me or that I'm planning to kill?" 

"And what, exactly, are you trying to keep from me now, Lexen?" Kirlin asks. "Don't think I don't recognize the signs of a privacy spell." 

I sigh and cancel the spell with a wave of my hand. "I will explain everything later, alright?" 

"Am I supposed to trust you, after everything?" Kirlin says. "I thought you were my friend. But now I'm not so sure anymore." 

"We _are_ friends," I reply. "And know that no matter what happens, _I'm_ not going to be the one throwing the first spell. If you try to kill me for some of the things I've done and might do in the future, I won't promise that I'm not going to defend myself." 

"How did it come to this?" Kirlin says, sighing. She looks to the others and asks, "And what about the rest of you? Do you not see any problem with any of this? Don't answer that, Gellert." 

"Yeah, I think you know my answer already," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"I support Lexen no matter what he chooses to do," Tom says. 

"I don't _like_ the idea of him consorting with demons," Rispy says. "It's dangerous, foolish, and just plain bad. And considering how much he's spoken against demons and those who deal with them, it's kind of hypocritical. But I can't really say anything if he decides to take that risk regardless." 

"I am afraid that I find I must agree with the dwarf," Morrigan says. "I shall consider it foolhardy to deal with spirits in that manner. But I shall not speak against it unless it appears to be an immediate threat to me." 

Turning into a demon before her eyes was probably just slightly threatening. How was she to know that I wouldn't just turn on her next? So many of the abominations we've encountered in the tower have done just that, after all. 

"You are all insane," Kirlin mutters. 

"That's my line," Rispy says. 

"You think he's insane, and you still follow him?" Kirlin says. 

"Indeed," Rispy says. "Which probably says something about my own sanity, but so be it." 

Our discussion is thankfully cut short by us entering the room Cullen is being held in. Upon seeing us, he begins to rant as he had before. 

"He's delirious and believes that he's seeing things," I say gently, mostly to Kirlin. "Let's leave him be for now and take care of Uldred. We can get him out of there once the others are safe." 

Kirlin scowls, but nods to me, and we head upstairs. Uldred begins to taunt me again, but I don't listen to him this time. Why did I even listen to him before? Still, his words would have had little effect upon me if it hadn't been for Mouse whispering encouragement in my ear. I would not have been foolish enough to allow a spirit I didn't trust possess me. 

"Don't waste your breath on me, demon," I tell Uldred. "I'm not going to serve you, and neither am I going to allow you to force anyone else to do so against their will." 

I whip out my wand, and focus upon my happy memories, and Mouse hides away in my pocket as I do so. I think of the taste of pancakes, hope for a better future. The rainbow after the storm, all strife will pass. Tom's love for me, a ritual on the Summer Solstice, together for eternity. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " I cry out, and a brilliant silvery bird flies out from the tip of my wand. My companions take my cue, and out come the snake, phoenix, and dove again to join my duck. 

"What is this?" Uldred says, scowling, eyes wide. 

"We know how to fight demons," Kirlin says. "We discovered this spell some while ago, and I've discovered that it's quite helpful against your foul kind." 

The fight is on, and I let the world fade away to focus solely upon destroying my enemies. I'm distantly aware of Uldred trying to do something to the mages, but Tom and Gellert are quick with the Litany to stop him. Soon enough, the pride demon lays dead on the floor. 

"I must say, I am glad to see you again," Irving says as we go over to help him to his feet. "I did not expect that you would return to aid us, Lexen. I owe you and your friends a debt that cannot be repaid." 

"I ask no debt of you," I reply. "I only request what aid can still be given against the Blight. Even what few mages may have survived will be a great help in defeating the darkspawn." 

"And you shall have it," Irving says. "You must tell me, though. What are these bright creatures you summoned? Are they spirits of some sort? Just having them near, it washed away all sorrow and despair, and felt like there was hope again." 

"It's a spell called the Patronus Charm," I say. "I... stumbled upon it in an old book, years ago. I apologize for keeping it from you." 

Irving chuckles softly. "A far better secret to have kept than those Uldred was delving into, to be sure. Perhaps it was for the best, however. Anything involving spirits is often met with suspicion, even though I am certain that these are no demons." 

"We should go and tell Greagoir that we've secured the tower," I say. "He said he'd only accept your word for it." 

"Yes, we should tell the templars what has transpired here," Irving says. "You will need to help me down the stairs. I'm afraid I am somewhat weak after being held captive here." 

"Exhausted, hungry, and dehydrated, most likely," Tom says. "Did they feed you at all?" 

I cast some quick spells at Irving and the other mages, cleaning them up and conjuring some water for them to drink. 

"No, they did not," Irving says, sipping the water gratefully. "They were hoping to break us, one way or another." He looks to Tom and Morrigan. "I saw you two casting spells, but you aren't any of mine. Where are you from?" 

"Kirkwall," Tom replies. "And Morrigan here is from Orlais. We're Grey Wardens brought in to combat the Blight." 

"And yet it seems we have spent far more time fighting demons, abominations, and the walking dead, than anything else," Morrigan comments. 

"Don't forget the bandits," I add, helping Irving toward the stairs. 

"We did fight a number of darkspawn in Ostagar, and on the way to Redcliffe," Tom says. 

I groan. "Don't remind me." 

"I heard about what happened at Ostagar," Irving says. "My condolences on your losses. It saddens me to hear of Duncan's death." 

At the bottom of the stairs, Cullen appears to have been freed from his magical prison by the death of the blood mages up top. 

"You... You killed them?" Cullen says, looking suspiciously toward the mages coming down with us. 

"Uldred is dead," Kirlin says. "Are you alright, Cullen?" 

"I don't know," Cullen says. "How can I be sure that any of this is even real? That you aren't just demons trying to trick me again?" 

"I assure you, Cullen, everything will be fine now," I say. "Let's go downstairs and talk to Greagoir." 

"Yes, let's," Cullen says. "Surely he will see reason, and realize how foolhardy it is to allow maleficars to live." 

Cullen trails along behind us as we continue on. We don't get far before we encounter the second team, finishing up poking through one of the last rooms along the way. 

"There you are," Wynne says. "Has Uldred been dealt with?" 

I nod. "He's dead. How did your team do?" 

"We found some survivors and sent them downstairs to the barricade," Wesley says. "Mostly a lot of abominations and demons, however. We dispatched all of the monsters we found." 

"We're heading down to report to Greagoir," I say. 

Wesley nods. "Is everything clear from this point on?" 

"Seems to be," I say. "Gellert, do you still have the map?" 

Gellert pulls out the Marauder's Map quietly, activates it with an indistinct mutter, and looks it over before nodding. "All clear, from the looks of things." 

"What is that?" Wesley says, looking over. "Maker, that is some map! That could have saved us a bit of trouble on the way up, had we had it in our possession." 

"Yeah, pity _I_ had it, and I was up here," Gellert says. 

"No matter. The templars stationed here can do a more thorough sweep once we've reported the situation has been resolved," Wesley says. "Let us go and speak with the Knight-Commander, then." 

"May I see that?" Irving says. Gellert shrugs and passes it over to him. "Ah, my clever mages manage some remarkable things at times, I see." 

I chuckle softly. "Keep it, then. We don't really need it anymore. You can activate it by tapping it with your fingers and saying, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good.' Deactivate it by doing the same and saying, 'Mischief managed!'" 

Irving chuckles softly in amusement. "To think that you were able to do something like this as children. I knew that you would be great one way. Thank you for the gift, then, if you are certain that you do not want it any longer." 

I grin broadly. "My latest version covers all of Ferelden, and I've been trying to make it track the darkspawn horde, with limited success so far." 

"That's excellent," Irving says. "Perhaps you used this little map here for a bit of mischief while you were an apprentice, but you are certainly putting the skills you've learned to good use. I am curious as to how you accomplished this, however. It does not seem the sort of enchanted items that the Tranquil can create." 

I shake my head. "No, it's not like that. They're complex spells, and the paper merely exists to give them something to work with, in effect." 

The lot of us file downstairs and return to the barricade, and I go into a discussion with Irving on the spells behind the parchment along the way. I get so caught up in showing off that I find myself slipping into Wizarding Earth terminology, and stop caring what this knowledge might reveal about me. 

The mages holding the line seem quite relieved and grateful to see us again. I go over to the main doors and knock on them in hopes of getting the attention of the templars on the other side. 

"You can let us out now," I call. "The tower is clear, and Irving is with me." 

I have to wonder if anyone can even hear me through the big, thick door, but after a minute, someone opens it up and lets us through. 

"Irving," Greagoir says. "It's good to see you again." 

"It's good to be alive," Irving says with a feeble grin. 

"I believe the situation has been resolved satisfactorily, Knight-Commander," Wesley says, tapping his chest with a fist in a quick salute. 

"How can you say that? They might be blood mages!" Cullen exclaims. "They might still have demons in them, laying in wait, patient and quiet until the right moment to show themselves and strike..." 

"Calm yourself, Cullen," Greagoir says. "If Irving says that it is safe, I will accept his word on it. Irving?" 

"It is safe," Irving says. "The Grey Wardens dispatched Uldred and the others responsible for this mess, and dealt with most if not all of the demons that were infesting the tower." 

Greagoir nods. "Good. Then we can begin cleaning up this mess and getting everything back to normal." 

"But--" Cullen protests. 

"I have made my decision, Cullen," Greagoir says. "I am Knight-Commander here, not you." 

Cullen sighs in resignation. "Yes, ser. I fear that we may all yet regret this, though." 

"I'm just glad this is over with," Kirlin says, scowling toward me. 

"And you will, of course, have whatever aid we can provide against the darkspawn," Irving says. 

With the situation here resolved, I head to the apprentice quarters to rest for the moment. My own quarters upstairs, that I had only had for a day, are a complete mess, and things are a bit better down in the apprentice quarters. And there aren't many apprentices left... I try not to think about that part. I just head for my old bed and try to put everything out of mind for the moment, take a Dreamless Sleep potion, and drift off peacefully. Whatever troubles the world has can wait for another day. 


	18. Incessant Bickering

When I wake, the sun is high in the sky, and my friends are gathered around eating lunch and quietly discussing things. 

"Finally awake?" Gellert says. "I'm surprised you even remembered to take off that armor of yours before collapsing." 

"I think it's about time that we had that little discussion you promised me," Kirlin says. 

"Oh, indeed," Morrigan adds. "I am quite interested in hearing this." 

"Give him a break, he just woke up," Tom says. "At least let him get something to eat first." 

"It's alright," I say. "I can eat and talk." 

Only the mages, Rispy, and the dog are here at the moment, thankfully. My relationship with Alistair is strained enough as it is without trying to explain all of this to him. I wave a couple spells to seal the doors to the apprentice quarters for the moment and alert me if anyone tries to open them, and to prevent eavesdropping. 

"So, how much of what the sloth demon said was true?" Kirlin asks. 

"All of it, except the part about me being a slave to a pride demon," I say with a smirk. "I'll explain that part when I get to it, alright? Just listen to me and save judgment for when I'm done, please." 

"Fine," Kirlin says. 

I take a deep breath, and explain to them about how I'm from another world, how my time travel powers work, where I'd _really_ learned the spells that I'd been teaching them. And then about how I failed my Harrowing and accidentally bound a pride demon to my soul, much to my consternation, and had to learn to live with it. 

Kirlin frowns deeply. "Alright... That explains a lot of things, honestly. Although I _really_ don't like the part about the demon." 

"That's alright," Mouse says lightly. "I don't like you, either." 

Kirlin glares at the rodent. 

"Ah, so the talking mouse is, in fact, an abomination?" Morrigan says. "I should have guessed." 

"He helped us, though," I say. "If it hadn't been for him, we might have been trapped in the Fade until we wasted away." 

"I could have escaped on my own," Morrigan says. 

"Of course you could," Mouse says. "You are intelligent, skilled, and strong-willed enough to do that." 

"Don't waste your blandishments on _me_ , demon," Kirlin says. 

"Believe me, I wasn't going to bother," Mouse says. 

Kirlin sighs. "And after they were all saying they suspected Jowan of being a blood mage, it turns out that _you_ are, instead? _You've_ been summoning demons?" 

"Technically, I'm the one who summoned him," Gellert says. 

"I use blood magic as well," Tom adds helpfully. 

"And Jowan _is_ a blood mage," I correct her. 

Kirlin stares at us. "Why am I your friend again?" 

"One assumes that twould be because they were friendly toward you," Morrigan says. "At least that is how I understood it." 

"I suppose," Kirlin allows. "Did you run into Jowan again somewhere?" 

"He's in Redcliffe, last we saw him," I say. 

"He only made it as far as Redcliffe?" Kirlin says. 

"No, he didn't even actually make it that far before being caught," I say, rolling my eyes. 

"So what's he doing there now?" Kirlin asks. 

"Being an idiot and accidentally leaving demonology books laying around for a child to find, get possessed, and have the town overrun by undead," Tom says. "And that's ignoring the fact that he was hired to poison Arl Eamon." 

"That's horrible!" Kirlin says. 

"Indeed," I agree. 

"You resolved the situation there as well, I hope?" Kirlin says. "Tell me you at least fixed everything, even if you couldn't save everyone..." 

"Um..." I say, shifting uneasily. 

"The arl is still poisoned and unconscious," Morrigan says helpfully. 

"The demon that the boy summoned has been keeping him alive," I say. "We couldn't remove it without risking killing him." 

"Maker's breath..." Kirlin sighs and puts her face in her hands, and then stands up. "Alright. We're heading to Redcliffe to resolve this, one way or another." 

"Kirlin?" I say. 

"Look," Kirlin says, turning to face me with a stern expression. "I'll keep your own questionable activities present on the assumption that you're using them for the greater good, or something vaguely resembling thereof." Gellert flinches a little at that. "But I will not be so tolerant if you leave a demon to run rampant, who has already shown a predilection toward wanton slaughter. So the boy and the arl might die? At least nobody else will, though!" 

I sigh. "You have a point, and I can't argue." She's clearly not the least bit afraid of me trying to blackmail her with what I saw in the Fade. And, true, I would not do such a thing. 

"Alright, then, have fun, guys," Gellert says. 

"You're not coming with us?" I say. "But the tower is a mess!" 

"Somebody needs to help sort all of these books," Gellert says with a wink. 

We head out of the apprentice quarters, and Gellert parts ways with us and makes for the library. Kirlin's face is a mask of steely determination as we make our way to where Irving is located, in the entry hall on the first floor rather than his office upstairs. 

"First Enchanter," Kirlin says, bowing her head toward him respectfully. "I would have your leave to travel to Redcliffe under an urgent matter." She glances toward me. "Lexen, you know the details of the situation. I will trust you to relay them." 

I can feel the barb in the tone of her voice, that if I do _not_ tell of what transpired there, she will do so instead. 

"Arl Eamon has been poisoned," I explain. "I am sure you heard of this already. The arlessa said that she'd already called upon the Circle's best healers, and they were unable to find a cure. However, you probably have _not_ yet heard of what followed after. Eamon's young son, Connor, is apparently a mage, and became possessed in a desperate attempt to save his father." 

"I see," Irving says. "This is a grave situation indeed. What do you intend to do?" 

"Unfortunately, the demon possessing young Connor is all that's keeping Arl Eamon alive at the moment," I say. "Which makes acting rashly a precarious position." 

"I'll go there and hold him to life myself if need be," Kirlin says. "I don't want that demon to have a chance to cause anymore trouble." 

I nod in agreement. "It already killed many people in Redcliffe by sending hordes of undead upon the village. I left some people behind to keep watch over it and make sure there weren't any problems while we were tending to the business here in the tower, but it's probably best not to leave the matter any longer than necessary." 

"Will we need to kill the boy?" Kirlin asks, frowning. "If he's an abomination..." 

"There's another solution, although it feels strange to suggest going to such measures to save one abomination after killing so many," I say. "If a mage were to enter the Fade and confront the demon there, it could be driven off without harming the child." 

"Hmm," Irving says. "Yes, this could be done." 

"Well, if we can save one life, then we should do so," Kirlin says. "He's just a boy. He didn't understand what he was getting into. Which is more than can be said about many of those in the tower." 

"I will gather what mages I can and make preparations to leave at once," Irving says. 

I look at him in surprise. "You intend to go yourself, First Enchanter?" 

"Indeed," Irving replies. "There is much to be done here, but with the demons gone, it is nothing that cannot wait. The dead can rest. Now, we must tend to the living." 

* * *

The next day, we set out from Kinloch Hold again, my group plus a handful of mages from the Circle. During the intervening period, I hear a rumor circulating through the tower about the fact that a number of apprentices had heard that their phylacteries had been destroyed and had taken the opportunity to take a bit of a vacation from the tower. 

"I'm sure they'll turn up again," Wynne says. "Those children didn't sound like they truly wanted to be gone, but merely to get out and see the world a bit. They'll come back, of that I am certain." 

"Still, it is fortunate that they went when they did," Irving says. "As rash as destroying the phylacteries might have been, it may have inadvertently saved many lives." 

As we travel, Morrigan comes up to where me and Tom are walking, and says, "What is that spell you always use to prevent eavesdropping?" 

"It's called a privacy charm," I reply, flicking one up absently. "I do it by habit these days, because I'm paranoid. I'll teach it to you if you like. It's not complicated." 

"Twould be appreciated," Morrigan says. "You proposed an exchange of spells. I say that we should get started on that, shall we?" 

I give a nod. "I'll teach you whatever I can." 

"We can begin when we make camp for the evening," Morrigan says. "Practicing new spells while on the move would be obnoxious. For the moment, however, there was another wonder which I had, if you would indulge me." 

"Go ahead," I say. 

"You are from another world, are you not?" Morrigan says. "That is what you claim, at least. Why did you come here, then? Why this world, out of all the universe?" 

"Good question," Tom says with a smirk. 

"We were exploring," I say. "And we really didn't know what we would find here. Honestly, to find mages treated in such a way was... inconceivable. I thought at first that the Circle of Magi was just a school, not a prison." 

"So you had no idea what you were getting into?" Morrigan says. "You came in blindly, making assumptions about the world around you?" 

"Pretty much, yeah," Tom says. 

"Why, I wonder, do you care about the Blight, then?" Morrigan asks. "This is not your world. Why do you care what happens to it? Why do you not simply move on and leave this world to its fate?" 

"A question I often wonder of him myself," Tom says wryly, grinning at me. 

"Because," I say, taking a deep breath. "It's not right to stand by and do nothing when I could do something. I can save people here who might otherwise perish." 

"Why should you save them, if they cannot defend themselves or escape on their own?" Morrigan says. 

Mouse pokes his head out of my pocket and puts in, "Because he's a hypocrite." 

"Saving people thing," Tom puts in helpfully. "We all have our own particular brands of insanity. This is his." 

I smirk at him. "You go out of your way to save your family. This is the same thing, just on a larger scale." 

Tom shrugs. "Perhaps." 

"And you, Hawke," Morrigan says, looking to him. "You do not seem to share his attitudes. Why do you indulge him so? Why do you go along with so much?" 

"Why not?" Tom says. "He is the only thing I care about in most worlds. If it makes him happy, then I will gladly indulge him." 

"Ugh," Morrigan says. "There is that 'love' thing again. Why do you allow yourself to be bound so? Before, you told me that I would not understand. Was that because you were attempting to conceal the fact that you were from another world?" 

"I allow myself to be bound so because my soul _is_ bound to his, in a very real and literal manner," Tom replies. "And because it is precisely that bond which grants me immortality." 

"I surely did not expect to wind up being dragged around through time by one I believed was a mere mortal," Mouse says. 

"So, which of you is _really_ in control?" Morrigan says. "Who follows who, exactly?" 

"Lexen," Tom says simply. "Mostly because I don't care what happens to the world. I'm done trying to conquer worlds, and instead seek more personal power." 

"I'm a pride demon," Mouse says. "Do you think, even I were to bow to someone else, that I would stoop to admitting it? Honestly?" I laugh lightly. 

Morrigan says, "You do not appear to be in control, but what do I know?" 

"I do not need to be in direct control," Mouse says. "I am quite enjoying my excursion into the mortal world, and I get to feed off of his pride regardless. Which, I might add, is sweet as cookies, and less likely to make one ill." 

"I _see_ ," Morrigan says. 

"And if he does something we don't like, I will find a way to erase him from existence," Tom says. 

* * *

The next day on the road, Wynne approaches me while I'm alone. 

"I have noticed that you seem quite taken with that young mage from Kirkwall," Wynne says. "Thomas Hawke was his name, is it not?" 

"Yes," I say. "What of it?" 

"I am wondering where you intend this relationship to go," Wynne says. 

I sigh softly and mask my annoyance. She knows nothing of what she speaks. She's about to give me an earful of unsolicited relationship advice, isn't she. 

"We," I reply firmly, "are in love. What more needs to be said?" 

"Love is ultimately selfish," Wynne tells me. "It means being devoted to one person above all other things. But a Grey Warden cannot afford to be selfish. You may be forced to choose between saving your love, and saving everyone else. Then what will you do?" 

Of course that's not going to happen. It doesn't work that way. But she has no way of knowing that. Wynne is old, and has long accepted that her death will come one way. What would she understand of immortality? Of true eternal love? Most would never even consider it a possibility. 

"That's not going to happen, Wynne," I reply. I can't explain to her why. Morrigan and Kirlin knowing my secrets is bad enough, and could already come back to bite me in the ass. 

"Nothing is certain," Wynne says. "You cannot take anything for granted in times like these. You need to be aware of this. You cannot simply brush it off as impossible. That's a naive attitude. Even if you believe that it won't happen, indulge me for a moment. Think about it, and tell me, what would you do if it _were_ to come to that?" 

I sigh and rub my eyes. "I don't think you want to hear my answer." I know very well that, in the unlikely event of being forced into that situation, the decision would doubtless destroy me. And would very likely lead to me deciding to let the world burn. 

"Just keep it in mind," Wynne says. "Perhaps nothing will come of it. But we cannot always be so fortunate that we have the luxury of complacence." 

I consider making an excuse and going to go talk to Sten instead, but just imagining his look of general disapproval makes me reconsider. 

"Oh, look!" I say brightly. "I can see Redcliffe ahead!" 

Wynne peers off. "I see nothing. Ah, these old eyes must be going. But it should still be some while before we arrive." 

"Um... Look! Bandits!" I say as we're randomly attacked out of nowhere. At least I can tell when darkspawn are coming, but clearly these idiots weren't expecting to be attacking quite so many mages. It doesn't take long at all to bring them down. 

"They're too well equipped and trained to be typical bandits," Leliana says. 

"We're not bandits!" says the survivor that we're questioning. "We were just hired to kill the red-haired girl. They didn't say anything about mages!" 

"Why would someone want to kill _you_?" I wonder. "Bah, I don't even care. Question him and find out what's going on if you want. I'm going to loot the bodies." 

Once I'm done with that and we're on our way again, Leliana comes up to me and says, "If we're in Denerim anytime soon, there is someplace I'd like to stop by. I have some unfinished business to take care of." 

"Sure, whatever," I say. "Do what you like. I'm not going to hold your hand." 

"I was hoping that I might get some backup in case of a fight," Leliana continues. 

"Oh, right," I say, shrugging. "Okay." 

"You aren't going to ask for details?" 

"No," I say. "That's your business." 

"Well, thank you for trusting me, I suppose, even if I fear it might be misplaced," Leliana says. "I have... secrets, you know..." 

"So do I," I reply. "And I'm not going to tell you mine, so why should I press you about yours?" 

"Fair enough." 

Shortly after that, Alistair comes up to me and says, "Lexen, if we're going to Denerim soon, there's someone I'd like to look up while we're there." 

"We're not going to assassinate Loghain, if that's what you mean," I say. 

"No," Alistair says sourly. "Although I don't know why you still support him. I heard he was responsible for what happened at the tower, too!" 

"I'm sure Loghain did not _intend_ Uldred to go insane, get himself possessed, and slaughter all of his would-be supporters," I reply. "Loghain intended to support more freedom for mages. That I can get behind. I'm sure you, as a templar, would not feel the same way." 

"I'm not really a full templar, you know. But fine," Alistair says. "Anyway, that wasn't what I was talking about. You see, I recently learned that I have a sister. A half-sister. And she's living in Denerim." 

"Okay," I say, shrugging. "Have fun. You don't exactly need my permission to go have a family reunion." 

"Well, I didn't want to go alone," Alistair says. "I was hoping for some support..." 

I look at him incredulously. "What, you think your sister is likely to try to kill you or something?" 

"No! No, of course not," Alistair says quickly. "It's just, well..." 

"You're nervous," I say with a sigh. "Alright, I understand." I pause. "I'll send Sten along for support." 

"Sten!?" Alistair says, then snickers in amusement. "Oh, very funny." 

Next, Kirlin comes up to me, and before she says anything, I ask, "Don't tell me. You want to go to Denerim, too?" 

"How did you guess?" Kirlin says. "I might not get the opportunity, though, but I'm sure you'll be going there sooner or later. I hear there's a shop there called Wonders of Thedas..." 

I groan. "I'm _not_ doing your shopping for you!" 

"Oh, come on," Kirlin says. "I could just blackmail you." 

I snort softly. "You would not. I know you better than that. Besides, I could blackmail you, too." 

"That, I doubt," Kirlin says. "Anyway. Please?" 

I sigh. "Fine. I can't tell you no." 

* * *

We return to Redcliffe. Thankfully, it seems that things have been improving since we left, rather than all hell breaking loose again. Sure, Bethany might have warned us if there had been any problems, but only if she hadn't been killed or otherwise incapacitated before she could send off a message. But that's just my paranoia talking, I think. 

Those waiting for us back in the castle certainly seem to be glad to see us. Aside from Jowan, who still seems to be busy brooding. 

"Back already?" Bethany says. "Did you find a cure for the arl?" 

Tom shakes his head. "Not yet, but we're going to need to deal with the demon sooner rather than later." 

"We will begin preparations to send someone into the Fade immediately," Irving says. "Who will be going?" 

"I should go," I put in. "I know the Fade best, I think." Especially after Mouse's lessons. I have to grin at the thought of turning into a pride demon and scaring the piss out of the creature, or transforming into a dragon and stomping her flat. 

"No, I should," Kirlin says, giving me a distrustful look. What, is she afraid that I might make a deal with the demon instead of saving the child? I can only guess, but at least she keeps her mouth shut and doesn't speak those suspicions in front of Irving. 

"Well, take some time to discuss things amongst yourselves if you want," Irving says. "There will be a short while before we are ready." 

I step aside along with Kirlin, Tom, and Morrigan, putting up a quick privacy spell. "Kirlin..." I say in a strained voice. 

"I don't trust you," Kirlin says, folding her arms across her chest. 

"Kirlin, I am _not_ going to sell the poor boy's soul or something!" I say. "He's just a child! I'm shocked that you would think I'd ever do such a thing." 

"Maker's breath, I didn't think you'd ever do some of the things you've done, and yet here we are," Kirlin says. 

Morrigan rolls her eyes. "What does it matter, anyway? Let us be done with this." 

"Maybe _you_ should go into the Fade instead, then," Kirlin says. 

"Why should I?" Morrigan says. "I care not what happens here." 

"I'm certainly not letting Hawke go in, either!" Kirlin snaps. "He admits to being a blood mage himself!" 

Morrigan sighs and rubs her forehead. "However, if it will make you cease your needless bickering and get us out of here again faster, then I shall do so." 

"Fine," Kirlin says. 

With that settled, Morrigan goes over to Irving. "I will be entering the Fade." 

"Very well," Irving says. "Let us begin the ritual immediately." 

Leaving them to that, I turn to the elven woman I had thought of as a friend once again. 

"Do you really distrust me so much, Kirlin?" I ask. 

Kirlin sighs. "I don't know what to think anymore." 

"You seem awfully judgmental of someone you've known for years," Tom says. 

"Sometimes things come to light and you have to wonder if you ever really knew someone," Kirlin says, shaking her head. "And to find out the things you've been involved with..." 

"Does it really surprise you that much?" I say. "We were always skirting the boundaries, back at the tower, always poking into things we shouldn't have." 

"I suppose there's a point to that," Kirlin admits with a chuckle. "We did have a lot of fun, didn't we." 

"That we did," I say. 

"I never... I never suspected that you might be older than you seemed," Kirlin says. "More than you appeared to be. I guess that's what's distressing me more than anything else. Was everything a lie?" 

"It's not like I was trying to sleep with you," I say. 

"Alright, look," Kirlin says. "Just... forget it. Go, save the world. And bring me back some souvenirs. Wonders of Thedas..." 

"Yes, yes," I say, rolling my eyes. "Back to that, again, I see." 

Thankfully, I'm spared from continuing the discussion by Morrigan returning from the Fade. "The task that I foolishly agreed to perform is done. The demon is gone, and the boy is safe once again." 

"We'd better go check on the arl," Kirlin says, heading upstairs. 

Arl Eamon is still asleep, his condition seeming unchanged. I don't know what else might be done for him, however. There has been much grief in Redcliffe as it is, but at least he doesn't seem to be perishing on the spot. 

"I would remain and keep an eye on him," Kirlin says. "I can keep his condition stable with magic, even if I can't cure him." 

"Very well," Irving says. 

"And I would travel with the Grey Wardens," Wynne says. "Perhaps I can assist them in saving the world." 

I groan inwardly at that. "Are you sure, Wynne? No offense, but you're getting rather... um..." 

"Old?" Wynne says, laughing. "Oh, I still think I have a bit of kick in me left." 

"One last great adventure, Wynne?" Irving says. "Very well." 

"And what of Jowan?" Bann Teagan says, glaring sidelong at the apostate blood mage who poisoned the arl, who happens to be my old friend. "He should be punished for his crimes, but I do not know that it is my place to do so." 

"He should return to the tower, of course," Wynne says. 

"I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary," Jowan says, hanging his head in shame. "I will be the first to admit that I have made mistakes, I have done wrong, I have hurt people..." 

"Bann Teagan, First Enchanter," I say. "With your leave, I would propose an alternative. I suggest putting him to use in fighting the Blight. I will conscript him into the Grey Wardens. Now, more than ever, we need people to fight the darkspawn, and it would be more useful than simply locking him up." 

"Considering that he is your friend, one might argue that you are biased in that judgment," Irving says. 

"That may be so," Tom says. "But Lexen is right. The Grey Wardens take aid wherever it can be found." 

"He's a blood mage," Alistair says. "And he poisoned Arl Eamon! How can we trust him?" 

"The Grey Wardens do not judge," Tom says. "We do anything that is necessary to fight the darkspawn. Or have you forgotten that?" 

"After what he's done, I cannot abide by this," Alistair says. 

"And I'm not going to stand by and watch my friend be executed or made Tranquil!" I snap. 

Bann Teagan shakes his head. "Perhaps it would be best simply to return him to the dungeons and allow Arl Eamon to make a judgment when he wakes up." 

"If he wakes up," Tom says quietly. 

"I'm not giving up on him yet," Alistair says. "But what can we do for him?" 

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes could cure him!" Isolde says. 

"Perhaps it might, but how do we know that it even exists?" Alistair says. "I mean, I'm as devout as the next person, but surely we've got better options than chasing down legends." 

"We've tried everything we could think of," Isolde says. 

"Our best healers could do nothing for him," First Enchanter Irving says. 

"Well, for Arl Eamon's sake, I hope that the legends are accurate," Alistair says. 

"My husband funded a scholar on Denerim by the name of Brother Genitivi," Isolde says. "He was doing research on Andraste, and he may have found where her remains have been lain to rest!" 

"Why do I get the feeling that everyone wants me to go to Denerim?" I say. "I was just going to suggest going to Denerim to find Loghain and get some answers from _him_." 

"So, are we going to Denerim next, then?" Tom says. 

"I promise you, Lady Isolde, we will find a way to save Arl Eamon, somehow," Alistair says. 

"At this rate, you shall wake this man solely by means of your incessant bickering," Morrigan says, stepping into the doorway. "Wherever we are going, let us be off." 

The group disperses, and we head out of the arl's room. Tom and I meet up again with his brother and sister. Bethany is peering about uneasily. 

"Will you be leaving again soon?" Bethany asks. 

Tom nods. "We'll be heading for Denerim in the morning." 

"What will happen with me?" Bethany wonders. "I'd been expecting you to be gone longer. And the First Enchanter himself is here, too... What if he notices me?" 

"Just tell him you're a Grey Warden," I say. 

"Maybe... Maybe I should just go to the Circle," Bethany says. "Surely it can't be all that bad, can it?" 

"It just got overrun with abominations and most of the mages were killed," Tom replies soberly. 

"We could go with you, you know," Carver says. "Help fight the darkspawn." 

"It seems wrong to claim to be a Grey Warden and not help in some way," Bethany says. 

"It's going to be dangerous," Tom says. 

"So was watching that demon," Bethany says. 

"I'll feel better if someone were here to keep Mother safe, in case the darkspawn decide to come here next," Tom says. "I won't be able to fight the Blight as effectively if I'm busy worrying about her constantly." He gives a small grin. 

"So you just want to go and save the world and leave us behind again?" Carver says. 

"Didn't we have this discussion before?" I ask. 

"I think it just boils down to the fact that my brother does not want us along," Carver says. "I see how it is." 

"No," Tom says. "I just don't want anything to happen to you." 

"You can help keep an eye on Arl Eamon, Bethany," I say. "That's a worthy task. Make sure that his condition doesn't deteriorate." 

Bethany nods. "I can do that." 

Carver just storms out without another word. 

I head down to the dungeon to see Jowan, where they've locked him up again. "I'm not going to just leave you here," I say. "No one deserves to be imprisoned like this." 

"But they wouldn't even let you recruit me," Jowan says. 

"Then we will just take your freedom back." I slam magic through his cell, snapping the lock open with shattering force. 

"They won't like this, Lexen," Jowan says uneasily, stepping out of his cell. 

"What a pity, it seems you've escaped," I say. "I can't take you with me without Alistair blowing up. So, go. Your phylactery has been destroyed, so they can't track you. Leave Ferelden if you can. Make a new life for yourself somewhere else." 

"I just want to find Lily again and try to make things up with her somehow," Jowan says with a sigh. 

"Then do that," I say. "I don't know whether you might succeed, but you may as well try. And perhaps sometime, you will have the opportunity to go back in time and avoid the mistakes that have befallen your path." 

"If you think you can find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, then I suppose anything is possible," Jowan says. "Thank you, my friend. I won't squander this chance you've given me." 


	19. Zevran

"If you're trying to keep your family out of harm's way, maybe it would be better to take them with us," I comment as we head out from Redcliffe along the road to Denerim. "At least then we'd have a better chance to tell if something bad happened and could reverse it." 

"Perhaps," Tom says with a shrug. "But I'd rather not drag Bethany into battle if I can help it, regardless. Not all of the horrors of war are purely physical. Us, we're used to it. But many of the things we might encounter, I would not want Bethany to see." 

I give a nod. "I understand." 

Whenever we stop to rest, we have magic lessons with Morrigan or Mouse, and often spend even the traveling time discussing magical theory. Mouse has been continuing to try to teach us how we might modify our Apparation techniques in order to work in this world. Morrigan, in addition to wanting to learn a few useful charms, has started to teach me about shapeshifting. 

I have not yet managed to accomplish either feat successfully, but I am confident that I will succeed in due time, with sufficient practice. 

"To become the mouse, you must learn what it is to be a mouse," Morrigan says. 

"You can do this, Lexen," Mouse says. "You were able to do it in the Fade, after all." 

"The Fade was different, though," I say. 

Mouse snorts softly. "The difference is only in your mind. She's taught you the spells you need to do it in the mortal world. Now it's just a matter of following through." 

I grunt. "It generally takes people years of work to become an Animagus." 

"This isn't like the Animagus transformation, though," Tom says. "Those rituals and exercises make the change an inherent part of your being, and only allow one form. Effectively, it puts all the work up front to allow it to work more easily later. This is more like self-transfiguration, in which you do different work since you need to learn each form individually, but to allow more versitility. I think I appreciate this method more, since its inherent drawbacks can be mitigated with sufficient practice." 

"Why not give us a demonstration, Hawke?" Morrigan says. "Perhaps your talent should prove greater." 

"Perhaps," Tom says with a quirk of a grin. "Very well." 

"Oh, so you're going to turn into a mouse instead?" Mouse says. 

"I think... not," Tom says, his grin broadening as he goes through the routines of the spell Morrigan taught us, carefully and precisely. His form ripples for a moment before my eyes, and then starts shifting. His body grows thinner, his arms press against his sides, and his legs fuse together. In minutes, where Tom had sat before, a large snake now lays, coiling up and flicking its tongue at Mouse. 

"Well done," Mouse says. "Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"You see?" Morrigan says. "Tis not that difficult. One merely needs to be well acquainted with the forms one is shifting into. Transforming more quickly is a feat requiring nothing but practice." 

"This is a most fascinating sensation," Tom hisses. 

"I would imagine," I reply. "Now I just need to manage it myself." 

Morrigan looks at me strangely. "Tell me you are not actually communicating with him like that." 

"What?" I say. "Oh. Tom and I can speak Parseltongue, the snake language." 

"When I think I have heard all that could possibly be peculiar about you, something new comes to light," Morrigan says. "I believe this is even stranger than being from another world." 

"What's so strange about that?" I say. "Don't tell me that you can turn yourself into animals but never conceived of communicating with them." 

"Why would I?" Morrigan says. "They are still animals. They cannot speak, unless they are possessed by a spirit such as our little mouse here. And what would they have to say even if they could?" 

"Perhaps you'd be surprised," I say, leaning back and chuckling as Tom begins the transformation back into human form. "That's part of the reason we travel to different worlds. To learn about new things that we might have never conceived of otherwise. Each new group of mages we have encountered uses a different form of magic, a different paradigm, with different sets of assumptions and things which they take for granted. Seeing things from a new point of view can be quite enlightening at times." 

"Perhaps," Morrigan allows tentatively. "Still, it seems strange for you to say this while you have such difficulty in accepting my, 'paradigm' as you call it." 

Tom, back in human form again, stretches his arms and legs a bit. "That wasn't so bad. I will need to practice at that more, I think." 

"You must be quite familiar with snakes if you were able to successfully complete the transformation on the first attempt," Morrigan says. 

"Oh, yes, indeed," Tom says. "Turning into anything _else_ would require a lot of work familiarizing myself with them, no doubt, but snakes, snakes I can do." 

I try the transformation again, slowly and deliberately going through the spell, but I still can't quite manage it. I _know_ I can do this, damn it. Maybe it's too much to expect to be able to get it right away. 

"Well, if you are not going to be accomplishing this tonight, I would have you teach me that spell which you use to clean things," Morrigan says. 

* * *

As we travel along the road toward Denerim, a woman runs up to my group and says frantically, "Oh, thank the Maker that someone has come! Our wagon was attacked! Please, come quickly and help us!" 

"Of course, right away," I say. "Show us where they are and we'll take care of it for you." 

She runs off, and I follow after her, gesturing to my companions to come along with me. A short ways away, there's a few wagons strewn about, and armed men in leather armor swarm out from behind every rock and tree to surround us. 

"The Grey Wardens die here!" shouts their leader, an elf with elegant markings on his face. He moves with deadly precision to engage me in combat. 

I realize distantly that this was no mere bandit attack. They lured us into an ambush. And these people are _far_ too good to be mere bandits. The elf before me, even as I swing at him with my blade, he dances out of the way, spins about, and slips a dagger between the joints in my armor before I can react. 

Foolish, complacent... I berate myself as I stumble to my knees, suddenly dizzy and light-headed as poison courses through my veins. I try to call upon healing magic, but I can't focus. That's the trouble with trying to heal yourself. 

"Nngh," I murmur, slumping down onto my side in pain. "Congratulations, assassin. You've earned your pay," I grate out, and then have to laugh bitterly. "Funny, if you weren't killing me, I'd think you were incredibly hot." 

"What a pity I must kill you, then," the elf says in an unfamiliar accent, grinning down at me. 

I have no idea how anyone else is doing, and it's not going to matter in a moment. They'll have to live or die on their own. I can't save them. Darkness takes me. 

* * *

I wake in my tent that morning. Three hours out until we will come to the point where we would be ambushed. 

"Well," Tom says, rolling out of bed and getting dressed. "Now we'll know what to avoid. The question, who _was_ that that was trying to kill us?" 

"I don't think 'trying' is exactly the operative word here," I reply dryly. 

"Those were certainly no bandits," Tom says. "They knew what they were doing, and were good at it." 

"That elf poisoned me," I mutter as I go to put on my armor. 

"You got careless," Tom says. 

"I realized too late that they weren't just random bandits to be slaughtered," I say. 

"Shall we turn the tables on them?" Tom says with a grin. "Ambush them, instead?" 

"Oh, yes," I say, chuckling. "And capture that elf. Get some answers out of him." 

"And you thought he was hot," Mouse mutters. "What's that even supposed to mean?" 

"Should I be jealous?" Tom says wryly. 

I laugh softly and lean over to kiss him. "He's not even a mage." 

"And yet he killed you, nonetheless," Tom says with a chuckle. 

"Which means he'll probably be dead by the end of the day," I say. 

We break camp and move on along the road to Denerim again. This time, when I note that we're getting close to the ambush site, I have Morrigan do a bit of scouting as a crow first to pinpoint the assassins. 

"Alright, here's the plan," I say. "We're going to ambush the ambushers. Morrigan, you take on animal form and come in from behind. Leliana, Rispy, can you hold back and circle around to the left out of sight?" 

"Can do," Rispy says, and Leliana nods. 

"Tom, take Wesley and Aveline around to the right and conceal their approach," I say, and they nod. "The rest of us will meet them head on and draw their attention while the others come in to crack them like a nut," I say. 

Alistair, Sten, Wynne, Padfoot, and I walk up blithely to the ambush site, acting as though we have no idea what we're about to walk into. When the woman leads us into the assassins, I already have magic in hand, shielding my group from harm and enhancing their physical prowess. More energy than I'd normally want to expend simply wiping out a group of bandits. 

"The Grey Wardens die today!" the elf announces, drawing his blades and moving in to engage me. 

I grin broadly and say, "You'll have to earn your pay, I'm afraid, assassin. Let's see how you fight." 

I leave my companions to deal with the others. This is the one who interests me at the moment. I meet him with my sword, moving and parrying, although I find myself having to rely a bit too much on my magic to protect me from his poisoned daggers. I'm clearly rusty when it comes to physical combat. 

"Strange, I was under the impression that you were a mage," the elf says. 

"I am," I say with a smirk, casually lifting my right hand and letting an aura of electricity crackle around me. "In fact, I could have just stunned you first thing. But what fun would that be? I wanted to see how you fight." 

"And give me the opportunity to slay you? How sporting." He tumbles in and slices right next to my ribs with a dagger, earning himself a shock in the process, but if it weren't for my defenses, that would have nicked me enough to get poison into me. 

"Certainly," I reply. "What's life without risk?" 

"Lexen, are you having fun?" Tom drawls, folding his arms in the corner of my vision. "When you're done toying with him, we can question him. We've already killed the others." 

"Have I mentioned lately that you're insane?" Rispy comments. 

"You are no fun," I say. "Fine." 

I start actually fighting seriously, throwing off some spells at the elf to disarm him, disable him, and restrain him. 

"Well," the elf says. "Now you have me tied up exactly where you want me. What are you planning to do with me?" 

"I'm sure torturing you for information would be productive," Tom says lightly. 

"As fun as that prospect might be, shall I save you a bit of time?" the elf says. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zevran Arainai, of the Antivan Crows. I was hired to kill any Grey Wardens who survived Ostagar. Which, it appears that I have failed miserably at, sadly." 

"Who hired you?" I ask. 

"A somewhat grumpy fellow in Denerim by the name of Loghain," Zevran replies. 

"See!?" Alistair interjects. "Now Loghain is hiring assassins to kill us! Surely we can all agree that this is a bad thing?" 

"Maybe he just didn't get my message," I say. 

"Or maybe he got it and decided to kill us anyway," Alistair says. "Didn't believe you, or didn't care. Does it matter? He's trying to kill us!" 

"I have no idea what his problem might be with you," Zevran says. "I was merely hired to perform a service for him." 

"Whatever you were paid, it obviously wasn't enough, either," I comment. 

"I wasn't paid anything," Zevran replies. "The Antivan Crows, however, were apparently paid quite handsomely. Pity that I won't get to see any of that, is it not?" 

"And who exactly are the Antivan Crows, anyway?" I wonder. 

"We're a group of assassins," Zevran says. "From Antiva, of course." 

"Of course," I drawl. 

"We're rather famous where we're from, but I am a bit far afield of where the Crows usually operate," Zevran says. "But we do get around a fair bit, and I happened to be in the neighborhood when the job came in." 

"These Crows you work for sound like the sodding Carta," Rispy says. "Except higher class, more skilled, and less... dwarven." 

"Should I take that as a compliment?" Zevran says. "Well, if you are quite done questioning me, I have a proposal to make, if you would hear me out." 

"This should be good," Tom comments dryly. "Going to beg for your life now?" 

"Certainly," Zevran says. "I do like living, after all. Seeing as I have failed to kill you, if you don't kill me, the Crows will. I would rather that they do not, you see. So let me serve you, instead." 

"So we can be targets for more assassins, too?" I say with a smirk. 

"You do seem to like living dangerously, do you not?" Zevran grins. 

"And why should we not expect you to try to kill us again later?" Rispy wonders. 

"It would not do much good," Zevran says. "They would likely kill me on principle for failing the first time. Besides, it's not like I had much choice in joining the Crows to begin with. You see, they bought me off the slave market when I was a child--" 

I wave my hand, and his restraints fall off without another word. "You're in." 

"Oh dear, he said the S-word," Tom drawls in amusement. 

"What?" Alistair says. "Just like that? But he was just trying to kill us!" 

"And I will _kill_ any other Antivan Crows that I come across," I say with a low growl. 

"Alistair, there's one thing you need to understand about Lexen," Tom say. "He does _not_ like slavers." 

"Freedom for all beings," I say firmly. 

Zevran gives a nod, and says. "Then, I give you my oath of loyalty, until you choose to release me. I am your man, without reservation. This I swear." 

"Is that your choice, or because you feel obligated to do so in exchange for being spared?" I reply. "I will not hold you against your will." 

"I feel that my chances are better with you," Zevran says wryly. 

Alistair isn't the only one who is shocked that I would take an assassin who was just trying to kill us into our group. Wesley and Aveline look unhappy about it, but say nothing, while Sten just looks on with general disapproval. Then again, that's Sten's usual expression. Does he just look that way at everything, or merely not like me? Or am I misinterpreting Qunari facial expressions? 

"Alright, if we've got all the bodies looted, let's move on," I say. "We've still got a few days to go until we reach Denerim." 

As we move on, Zevran comes to walk with me, Tom, and Rispy for a bit. Mouse helpfully pokes his head out of my pocket and says, "By the way, Lexen thinks you're totally hot." 

Zevran blinks and says, "Who said that?" 

"The mouse in my pocket," I reply casually, rolling my eyes, face burning. 

"Lexen, you're blushing," Tom points out. 

"Aha, so the handsome Grey Warden is interested in elf men, is he?" Zevran says coyly. 

"No," I say. "I'm... badass-sexual." 

"He's obviously not interested in _me_ ," Rispy comments. "I'm not sure whether to be relieved or insulted, though." 

Tom laughs aloud. "Zevran, my dear, you're lucky I think it's funny, or I might get jealous and kill you myself." 

"You would not," I say with a smirk. 

"True," Tom says with a shrug. "You see right through me, love. It's not like I'm about to feel threatened by a Muggle." 

"A what?" Zevran says. 

"Someone who isn't a mage," I reply. 

"I was unaware there was even a word for such a thing," Zevran says. 

"There is now," Rispy says with a shrug. 

"So, dwarf, you said you had been a member of the Carta, did you not?" Zevran says. 

"I did not," Rispy replies. "And my name is Rispy Brosca." 

"Oh, are we starting up the elven-dwarven rivalry here now?" Zevran says. 

"No, you'll just have to find another dwarf to do that with," Rispy says with a chuckle. "Unless by 'rivalry' you mean 'let's see which one of us is the best at killing people'." 

"That works, too," Zevran says. "But are you certain you can compete?" He grins. 

Rispy snorts. "I might not be an assassin, but I know killing." 

"Oh, look, darkspawn coming," I say. "Now's your chance to show off." I smirk. 

I don't sense anything particularly nasty among this group, so far as I can tell, and there's only a dozen of them or so. No big deal. Still, I don't want to take too many chances with any of my group becoming infected with the taint. We can cure it, to be sure, but that's not without its difficulties, or its price. 

Once the darkspawn are dispatched, the conversation continues without missing a beat. "So you were bought as a slave?" Rispy asks. 

"Indeed I was," Zevran says. "I was seven years old, and I was purchased for a price of three sovereigns. The Crows buy all of their assassins young. They train them and raise them to know nothing but murder." 

"That's horrible," I say, scowling. 

"Well, such as it is," Zevran says. "It was a living, and it's not like it was without its benefits. Respect, women, men, whatever you fancy. Being expendable, however, was not a part I particularly cared for." 

"I should say not," Rispy says. "So if what you say is true, we should be freeing the Crows, rather than killing them." 

Zevran gives a laugh at that. "I don't imagine that many will want to take you up on the opportunity, but you are welcome to try. It would be amusing to see." 

Rispy grunts. "I've seen far too often those with leashes that they do not wish to be free of. I do not understand it." 

"Whatever comforts one might get from it are not worth the price of freedom," I say. 

"Out of curiosity, Zevran," Tom says. "Did you know how many Grey Wardens and allies you were going to have to be fighting? And how many mages we had with us?" 

"No," Zevran replies. "I'll admit that I did not expect quite so many. I was under the impression that only two Grey Wardens had survived Ostagar." 

"You knew I was a mage, though," I say. "Why did you agree to take me on?" 

"Mages die like anyone else," Zevran says with a shrug. "Although most that I have encountered, while dangerous, are not nearly so skilled and powerful as you, of course." 

"Yes, I am quite impressive," I say with a grin. I can feel Mouse almost _purring_ in my pocket. "You're a mouse, not a cat, damn it." 

"But, that's why I use poison," Zevran says. "Sometimes all it takes is one nick." 

I make a face. "I don't like poison." 

"Understandably," Zevran says with a grin. "Most people do not like dying, yes?" 

"Not just being on the receiving end of it," I say with a smirk. 

"I would not have expected you to be squeamish about such things," Zevran says. "But I suppose I do not know you very well yet." 

"It's not that I'm squeamish," I say. "I... Well." I swallow hard and continue in a lower voice, even though I know a privacy spell is up. "I committed my first murder with poison. I felt... sick for days afterward." 

"Lexen," Rispy puts in. " _You_ didn't kill them. _I_ did. I was just your weapon in that instance. Besides, you did it for my sake." 

"I have a feeling there is a story behind this," Zevran says. 

"It's a long story," I say. 

"You can interpret that as meaning he doesn't want to talk about it, I think," Tom says with a smirk. 

I snort softly. "I'll talk about it. To a point. It was a long time ago. Just don't question the details too much." 

"Hmm," Zevran says. "That sort of story I would expect of another Crow. But you say you killed your first man a long time ago? And yet you look younger than I do? How old were you at the time?" 

"Eleven," I reply with a shrug. "I got over it, but I still don't like poison. Nowadays, I'd much rather kill people face to face." 

"You would rather fight honorably, then?" Zevran says. 

I chuckle. "That's a part of it." 

"Or the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh, knowing you hold their life in your hands, and watching the look in their eyes as they die?" Zevran says. "Ah, I'll take it from the wicked grin on your face that you feel the same way." 

I blink for a moment, not having even realized I was grinning. "Sometimes I think I need to wear a mask." 

"Are we going to start comparing kill counts now?" Rispy says. 

"No," I reply. "I don't even _remember_ how many people I've killed." 

"I'll share embarrassing stories if you share yours," Zevran says with a grin. 

"Like what?" I ask. 

"Oh, like my second mission as an Antivan Crow, where I became enamored with my mark, only to have her slip and break her neck," Zevran says. "Things like that." 

"I attacked a bunch of templars to help my friend escape from the Circle," I say. "I was surprised to survive that one." 

"I would imagine so," Zevran says. "Are you frequently reckless like that?" 

"I've described myself as a reckless idiot with no sense of self-preservation on more than one occasion," I reply dryly. 

"It's not true at all, of course," Tom says lightly. 

"Yeah, I'm not an idiot," I say with a smirk. 

"So, have you made any other noteworthy murders?" Zevran asks. 

"Yes," I reply. "But not many that I can talk about." 

"Ah, secrets, yes?" Zevran says, chuckling. "I understand." 

"You have _no_ idea," I say, snickering softly. "I have enough secrets that they could cover the length of Thedas." 


	20. Shopping for Side Quests

" _Reparo_ ," Morrigan says quietly, waving the spare wand I'd given her. A tear in her clothing promptly comes together and mends itself seamlessly. 

"Good job," I say with a grin. "Your clothes are revealing enough without making them even moreso." 

By the time we're nearing Denerim, I still can't Apparate or turn into anything else yet, but Morrigan has mastered a whole host of charms and jinxes. It's kind of embarrassing, actually, although I suppose it should not be surprising. The spells we've been teaching her are very simple first-year material, and because of the higher ambient mana levels in Thedas, they're easier to use, too. 

The biggest problem is that these spells are more geared toward delicate casting than raw power. That sort of magic is more suited to use with a wand than a staff, and while I have long since mastered wandless magic for most low level spells, Morrigan doesn't have that luxury. I wound up having her go through my wand collection to find a reasonable match, and although there wasn't a perfect one, a wand of sycamore and dragon heartstring proved sufficient for the task. 

"How much practice might I need before I can cast these spells with hardly a thought and a twitch of the fingers the way the two of you do?" Morrigan asks. 

"It took me years before I could get to that point, honestly," I say. "It comes so easily because we've been casting these spells for ages." 

"Rather like you and your shapeshifting, I would imagine," Tom adds. 

"I see," Morrigan says. "I shan't complain of using a wand, however." 

"I would use mine more often, but I don't really need to for the low-end spells, and I'm paranoid of it getting broken," I say. "So now I just bring it out for precision tasks like working on my map, or summoning a Patronus." 

"And now's the chance to get Denerim on the map," Tom says, looking ahead. 

"We do have some actual work to take care of here," I say. "Much as I might like to go exploring and get every nook and cranny of the place down." 

"I have never seen a city such as this before," Morrigan breathes. "So many people in one place... Tis stranger by far than the wilds." 

I go to speak with the others to delegate tasks. I send Wynne, Wesley, and Aveline to provide moral support for Alistair. I have Sten, Zevran, and Tom go to serve as backup for Leliana. To Rispy, I dump off a pack full of loot to sell at the market, since pulling stuff out of a bag of holding might attract unwanted attention. 

"And what task do you have for me?" Morrigan asks as the others go off. 

"Just, look around, enjoy yourself," I say with a grin. "If you'd rather not go off on your own, feel free to come along with me." 

"Oh? Are you going to search for information on this fanciful relic you foolishly promised to locate?" Morrigan asks. 

"No," I reply. "Not yet, anyway. Right now... I'm going to visit Wonders of Thedas." I roll my eyes. 

"Oh, this should be good," Morrigan says. 

Morrigan, Padfoot, and I head off through the streets of Denerim. I have no idea where this shop might be located, so I just start off heading through the market district. 

"We walk through the city so openly, and yet, no one seems inclined to attempt to arrest us," Morrigan comments. "Tis refreshing to see that we are not recognized on sight by everyone, at least." 

"Good day, Warden," says a guard in a sergeant's uniform as we come close. "Can I help you with something? Are you looking to report another crime?" 

I snort softly in amusement and say to Morrigan, "You were saying?" 

"So you _do_ know who we are?" Morrigan asks. 

"Your likenesses were passed around amongst the senior guardsmen," says the sergeant. "But don't worry. Even I believed the official story of what happened at Ostagar, if I were to order my men to arrest you, they would just run off and leave me alone to be incinerated. Just don't stir up any trouble in the marketplace, and I'll be happy." 

"These guards do not sound particularly impressive," Morrigan comments. "They do not have any competent men here to keep the peace?" 

"All I get these days are the illegitimate offspring of some lord or another, expecting a job with low expectations and decent pay." 

"Well, we certainly don't mean to cause anymore problems here," I say. "It sounds like you have enough of them as it is." 

"That we do," says the sergeant. "The arl's handpicked men are the worst of the lot. Even worse than the criminals we have to arrest, and sometimes they're one and the same." 

"What are our chances of actually getting a chance to speak with Teyrn Loghain?" I ask. 

"Pretty low, I would imagine," the sergeant says. "Even if you were able to get close enough to not be assumed an assassin and skewered on sight." 

"I see. Well, never mind that, then. Since you seem to be lacking in competent help, is there anything that we might be able to do to help for pay?" I ask. "Anyone that needs to be beaten up?" 

"Are we to solve the problems in this city as well?" Morrigan asks. 

"I think this city has more problems than we could solve in an afternoon," I say with a smirk. "But we do need money, and I'm never one to turn down pay for beating people up." 

"We would not be short on coin if you had not bought all that food for those refugees," Morrigan comments. 

"If you're serious, there are some things that I could use a hand with," the sergeant says. "I've had reports of some mercenaries causing trouble in a fine establishment near the docks called the Pearl. If you can get them to move along, it'll be some silver in your pockets, maybe even gold." 

"I think we can handle that," I say with a grin. 

"And that would be please making them move along in a non-fatal manner. Beatings are acceptable, incinerations are not." 

"I usually prefer electrocutions over incinerations, myself," I reply lightly. 

"None of those either, if you would please," the sergeant says. 

I chuckle softly. "Alright. We shall go and persuade them to move on." 

"Thank you," the sergeant says, and gives some quick directions to the location in question. 

As we're walking away, Morrigan says, "Are we getting sidetracked already?" 

I shrug. "You going to complain? Give you a chance to see more of the city. We'll likely be here a few days, anyway. Might as well get some pay while we're at it, not to mention, more importantly, the goodwill of the guards." 

"He seemed pleasant enough as it was," Morrigan says. 

I give a nod. "And more goodwill is never a bad thing, especially when it leads to less trouble for us." 

As we walk through the market district, an armored man stops us and says, "You! I recognize you. From Ostagar! I'd remember those eyes anywhere. You're a Grey Warden. I demand satisfaction for your crimes!" 

"My mistake," Morrigan says to me. "It seems everyone is going to recognize us after all." 

I tense, sighing, and say, "Satisfaction? What is it that you want of me?" 

"You are a traitor, therefore I challenge you to a duel of honor, to the death, in the alley behind the Gnawed Noble Tavern." 

"I have no interest in killing you simply for the mistaken belief that I had anything to do with the king's death," I reply. 

"So you would commit slander on top of treason?" says the knight. "How dare you besmirk Teyrn Loghain's word!" 

"I'll do nothing of the sort," I reply. "I'll not argue whatever Loghain said of what happened at Ostagar. I merely stated that _I_ had nothing to do with it. I don't think that the Grey Wardens intended to kill the king and get themselves slaughtered by darkspawn, but what do I know? I was only a member of the order for a few days, and I was sent away on a side mission and wasn't even in the main battle at all." 

My words seem to give him some pause. "Perhaps you were as misled as poor King Cailan, then. I cannot be certain whether what you speak is true, but I will not take the chance of killing an innocent. Go in peace then, Warden, but if I should find proof otherwise, I will show you no mercy." 

The knight walks off again, and I relax and let out a sigh of relief. 

"You should have just killed him," comments Mouse, poking his head out of my pocket. "He dared to question your honor. Or something." 

"Your arguments are not being particularly convincing," I say with a smirk. 

"Yeah, well, what am I supposed to think?" Mouse says. "Sometimes you cling to something vaguely resembling honor to the point of reckless stupidity, while other times you cheerfully murder and steal." 

"I won't argue being a hypocrite," I reply. 

"Just so long as you acknowledge that." 

We pass by vendors attempting to sell flowers and sweet-smelling oils. We come by where Rispy is dumping the goods I'd given him to sell onto a dwarven merchant. He waves at me and whistles me over, so I go closer to see what he needs. 

"Hey, Lexen, you got two sovereigns on you?" Rispy asks. "I want to buy this sword." 

"Sure," I say, passing over the coins to him. 

"Did you not say that we needed money?" Morrigan says. 

"Yes," I say. "To buy equipment. What else would we want it for?" 

"Well, that's a better purpose than purchasing overpriced food," Morrigan admits. 

"Here you go, Gorim." Rispy passes the gold over to the merchant and takes the sword, swinging it about experimentally a bit. "I feel like I'm offending the entire Warrior Caste again just by wielding this." 

"Perhaps," Gorim says. "I was born Warrior Caste, myself, but here on the surface, I'm just as casteless as you are. Wait... again? Were you that duster who won that Proving, by some strange chance?" 

Rispy laughs aloud. "That would be me." 

"When they couldn't find you, I assumed you'd just quietly 'disappeared'. But you made it to the surface, I see." 

"That I did," Rispy says. "I'm a Grey Warden now." 

"Congratulations," says Gorim. "I didn't see your fights myself, but if rumor of your prowess is any indication, they are privileged to have you. I would be honored if you would use my sword to fight the darkspawn and defeat the Blight." 

"Oh, we will, one way or another," I say. 

"You came from Orzammar recently?" Rispy asks. 

"I did," says Gorim. "Exiled, sad to say. I used to be second to the middle son of King Endrin. But Scregor got sent to the Deep Roads to die, and I was merely exiled to the surface." 

"Scregor?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yes. Scregor Aeducan." 

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully. "Big blond beard, penchant for axes, obsessed with honor, likes to solve everything with violence?" 

"Yes, that's him," Gorim says. "Did you know him? I was unaware that he had much contact with humans." 

"I know... of him," I reply. 

"Ah," Gorim says. "That makes sense. He was the favorite to be the next king, after all. But now he's probably dead." 

"What did he do to get himself sentenced to the Deep Roads?" Rispy wonders. 

"The Assembly convicted him of murdering his older brother, Prince Trian," Gorim says bitterly. 

"Excuse me a moment," I say. "I'll be right back. I need to check on something." 

Gorim nods, and as we walk away, he goes back to hawking, "Dwarven crafts! Dwarven crafts!" 

Rispy and Morrigan follow me into a nearby alley, and I peer around a bit to make sure that no one is looking, even putting up a couple quick spells to make sure of it. 

"Why does this dwarf interest you so?" Morrigan asks. 

I pull out my wand and cast, " _Expecto Patronum_ ," and with a thought of the rainbow, my duck Patronus emerges. "If you can find Scregor Aeducan, I want you to tell him that help is on the way. We are currently in Denerim, but we will find you as soon as possible if you can hang in there until then." The duck nods and vanishes. 

"I thought you needed to know someone to send a Patronus to them," Rispy says. 

"I knew Scregor in Torn Elkandu," I say. "If the version here is a reflection of the same soul... the Patronus should be able to find him." 

"So this dwarf may be the same dwarf you knew in another world, somehow?" Morrigan says. "How does that even work?" 

"I'm not sure," I say, heading out of the alley and back to Gorim. "Gorim, Scregor is still alive." 

Gorim looks at me in surprise. "How do you know?" 

"I cast a spell to confirm it," I say. "I don't know where he is, precisely, but he _is_ alive." 

"How long do you suppose he can survive in the Deep Roads?" Rispy wonders. 

"I don't know," Gorim says. "I suppose I should not be surprised that he has survived this long. If I could believe anyone could survive in the Deep Roads, it would be Scregor." 

Rispy looks to me and says, "You aren't thinking of trying to go after him, are you? It would be, what, three more weeks before we could even get to Orzammar?" 

"Unless I'm completely off the mark, if I know Scregor, he's an honorable man," I say. "He either was framed for murdering his brother, or had a very good reason for doing so." 

"I'll not openly speak against the Assembly, but just between you and me?" Gorim says quietly. "What you say is accurate." 

"I say, let us seek out this dwarven prince," Morrigan says. "It shall doubtless prove more worthwhile than chasing legends, and if he is truly capable of surviving so long in the Deep Roads, then he would no doubt prove useful to our cause." 

"You would recruit him into the Grey Wardens?" Gorim says. 

I give a nod. "Certainly." 

"Even the Assembly couldn't say anything about him, then," Gorim says. "I hadn't dared to hope that he might still be alive. If you can actually find him, you will have my eternal gratitude. I know that probably doesn't mean much to you, but I would happily give him the best prices I could manage if I saw him again." 

"I can't make any promises," I say. "But we'll do our best." 

We move on, Rispy heading along with us. "Alistair's not going to be happy about this." 

"He can run off and look for the Urn himself, if he really wants to," I say. "But I don't think he will." 

We head off to the Pearl and deal with the troublemaking mercenaries, who mistake me for someone working for Arl Howe and clear out. While there, I spot a woman fighting off three men, and stop to watch. She moves with a beautiful, deadly grace, and defeats the men with practiced ease. 

"Do you stop and gaze lustfully at anyone who shows competence in battle?" Morrigan comments to me. 

I roll my eyes. "No." 

Once the men have run off in shame, the woman looks over to me and says, "And what might you be doing?" 

"Gazing lustfully at you," Mouse interjects. 

"So I see," she says with a smirk. "I am Isabela, if you must know." 

"Nice to meet you, Isabela. I'm Lexen. Wanna duel?" 

"If this is a euphemism, I am going elsewhere," Morrigan comments. 

"No," I say with a snort. 

"I hate to disappoint, but I believe it better to avoid being hit, and best not to get into fights at all," Isabela says. 

"Come now," I say. "You don't get as good as you are without getting into fights. Just a friendly duel. No injuries that can't be readily healed. Come on, what do you say?" 

"Stone, he's bouncing like a nug on a grill," Rispy mutters. "Can't you just humor him and kick his ass into the floor? He's never going to shut up unless you do." 

"Oh, very well, I suppose it could be fun," Isabela says, quirking a grin. "Let's see what you can do, then." 

We fight, and it quickly becomes apparent that she's far, far better than me. Her style of combat lends itself well to avoiding my attacks, and her reflexes are quick and deadly, honed by long practice. I feel like a clumsy oaf next to her. Soon enough, I find myself flat on my back and panting a little. 

"There, she beat you," Morrigan says. "Are you satisfied now? Can we move on?" 

Isabela laughs at me. "You are _so_ slow." 

"Yes, I am," I agree, getting to my feet again. 

"You need to remember, just being left-handed might give you an advantage against those who aren't used to fighting lefties, but that's utterly useless if you don't know how to use it. And I _know_ how to fight lefties." 

"Thanks for indulging me, anyway. Farewell." 

On our way back to the market district, we run across the sergeant again with a small patrol. "Good day. Did you take care of things at the Pearl?" 

"Yes, I--" 

Suddenly, a group of mercenaries comes out of nowhere and attacks us. Somewhat annoyed to be interrupted, I don't hesitate to cut them down. 

Once they're all dead, the sergeant says, "And people voluntarily attack you? Are they just stupid?" 

"I have to wonder sometimes," I say dryly. "Who were they, anyway?" 

"They were the ones we encountered at the whorehouse, if you have forgotten," Morrigan drawls. 

The sergeant hands over two sovereigns for the trouble, no doubt with a bonus for saving his ass, and we part ways again. 

"See, Morrigan?" I say. "Killing some people not only paid for Rispy's new sword, but also made the guard happy with us. I call that a win-win situation." 

Mouse chuckles softly from my pocket. "And here you go from wanting to save people to being gleeful over any excuse to get away with killing people. So delightful." 

I come across Leliana and Sten in the market district, the latter of which is carrying a number of boxes. "What's in the boxes?" I ask Sten, as Leliana is distracted looking at a market stall. 

"Shoes," Sten replies flatly. 

"I... see." 

"I do not understand why the woman requires so much footwear," Sten says. 

"Nor do I, Sten," I say. "Nor do I. How did things go with your mission?" 

"We killed the Orlesian woman," Sten says. 

"Here's another one," Leliana says, tossing a bag at Sten. He awkwardly takes it around his forearm. Her expression is severe, haunted, and doesn't even acknowledge me, if she notices me there at all. 

"She seems upset," I comment. "Was it that bad?" 

"I do not understand what the people in this land do at times," Sten says. "More importantly, I wished to ask you. How do you intend to end the Blight?" 

This question might seem more serious from him if he were not carrying quite so many boxes and bags of shoes. 

"By killing the archdemon," I reply. "I'm working to recruit an army to deal with the horde so that I might be able to get close to her and kill her." 

"Your insistance on refering to the archdemon in the feminine is disturbing," Rispy comments. 

"I have heard many stories of the Grey Wardens," Sten says. "Unparalleled warriors, peerless tacticians. So far, all I have seen is you recruiting every criminal and vagabond that you come across." 

"For some, sacrifice is the only hope for redemption," I reply. 

Sacrifice seems awfully cheap, however, when it does not actually kill me. Am I just being a hypocrite again? 

"Perhaps," Sten allows, nodding, and goes quiet again. 

I wander off, continuing to look for Wonders of Thedas absently, although looking at everything else along the way as well, Morrigan and Rispy trailing along behind me. I can't help but notice that Rispy seems to be playing bodyguard, alert and looking this way and that to make sure nobody tries to ambush us. I can't really blame his paranoia, though. 

"Lexen," Morrigan says, pointing off. "Is that not the shop you were looking for?" 

"Aha! There it is!" I say, heading in. The shop is filled with books, enchanted goods, trinkets, scrolls, and some things that even I'm not sure what they're for. 

Morrigan, following after me and browsing the shelves, comments, "I do not see much here that could be considered a 'wonder'. Oh! This is a nice staff, however." 

"It's also thirty sovereigns," I point out. 

"Well, we shall just have to earn ourselves some more coin then, shall we?" Morrigan says. 

"You have a perfectly good staff, _and_ a wand," I reply. 

"Hmph." She moves on. "Say, I do believe this is an authentic Chasind fertility carving." 

"Is it?" I say, grabbing it. "Ah, good, now I don't have to waste anymore time in here." I take it down to the Tranquil proprietor to purchase. 

"That?" Morrigan says. " _That_ is what your friend wanted?" 

"Perhaps it would be best not to ask," Rispy says dryly. 

I stuff the tribal trinket in my bag of holding and head out of the store again, absently glancing at things on the way out. Overpriced, underpowered, useless, pointless. 

Back outside, we pass by Gorim's stand again, where Alistair is now looking over his wares. 

"If you want to talk about it, Alistair, I'm here--" Wynne is saying. 

"No," Alistair replies. "Just... not yet. Not right now." 

"Things didn't go well, I take it?" I ask Wynne quietly off to the side. 

"Ah, well, to be generous, his sister was not... entirely pleased to see him," Wynne replies. "Such a pity. How have things gone with you?" 

"Quite well," I reply. 

"Did you find Brother Genitivi yet, or any indication where the Urn of Sacred Ashes might be?" Wynne asks. 

"Er... not yet," I say. 

"We've been busy beating down mercenaries and shopping," Rispy replies. 

"And spending as much money as we've been making," Morrigan adds with amusement. 

"Gorim," Rispy says, turning to the dwarven merchant. "Do you happen to know where we might find a Brother Genitivi?" 

"I'm afraid not," Gorim says. "Perhaps you could ask at the Chantry? They might know." 

"Good idea," I say. "Why didn't I think of that?" 

"Because you are foolish at times and overlook the obvious?" Morrigan says. "Enjoy the Chantry. I believe I shall go off on my own for a while." 

Rispy stays with Alistair and Wynne, so I wind up heading off to the Chantry by myself. 

"Magic exists to serve man and never to rule over him," one of the sisters outside the Chantry is saying. 

I spot Tom speaking with a couple of sisters standing outside the Chantry courtyard. "Ho, Tom," I say. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to." 

"Hullo there, Lexen," Tom says. "Yes, I was just having a fine chat with these ladies about the purpose of magic in the world." 

"Very enlightening, I'm certain," I say. 

"Oh, yes," Tom says. "My favorite part was, 'Those who bring ham without provocation will be breaded and accursed by the Maker.'" 

"That's not how the Chant of Light goes!" protests one of the sisters. 

"Perhaps not, but it's much more memorable this way," Tom says lightly, grinning at them. 

"Is it almost time for dinner?" asks the other sister. 

We move on toward the Chantry. There are two templars outside guarding the doors, a few other sisters around, and a Chanter's board. 

"I apologize, my good men," one of the templars says. "The cathedral is closed at the moment." 

"That's alright," I say. "We were looking for a Brother Genitivi. Do you happen to know where we might find him?" 

"Brother Genitivi, is it? Hmm. I'm not certain. Perhaps you could ask the curator of the reliquary. You can find her over there." The templar points off across the courtyard. "She'll probably know." 

"Thank you, ser." I bow to him and head over to her and repeat my question. She helpfully provides me with the location of his residence. I thank her and head off across the market district. 

"Now we're getting somewhere," Tom says. 

"What do you say about a side trip to Orzammar before we go looking for the Urn?" I ask. 

"Orzammar?" Tom asks. "What for?" 

"One of the dwarves appears to be an alternate of someone I'd encountered in Torn Elkandu," I say. 

"Ah, I see," Tom says. "Well, you know what _my_ answer is going to be, of course. Alistair's the one who is likely to protest." 

"True," I say. 

We enter Brother Genitivi's home and find a man within, although a quick Naming Charm reveals that he is not Brother Genitivi, but one named Jasper. Perhaps an assistant, then. 

"What are you doing here?" Jasper asks. 

"We're looking for Brother Genitivi," I say. 

"Why?" 

"To discuss his research," I say. "He was studying the prophet Andraste and searching for the Urn of Sacred Ashes, was he not? Are you his assistant or something?" 

"I am his assistant, Weylon. And yes, he was. I fear that his search may have led him into danger, however. I have heard no word from him in weeks." 

"Weylon?" I say, scowling at Jasper. "No. It's alright, Jasper. I know who you really are. You don't need to lie to _me_." 

Jasper blinks at me. "You-- You do?" 

Tom stands back and folds his arms across his chest, grinning and watching me like he does when I'm killing something or verbally bitchslapping with someone. 

"Oh, yes," I say. 

"I don't recognize you," Jasper says. "Who are you?" 

On a whim, I say, "I am Lexen Chelseer, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood." 

Jasper's eyes widen. "You... You really are?" 

I have no idea what that might mean to him, but I play along anyway. "I am. Do you require proof?" 

"N-- No, I believe you, ser," Jasper says. "I am merely surprised." 

"Now," I say. "Where is Brother Genitivi?" 

"I don't know why you are looking for him, but he's... he's with the rest of us, back in the village." 

"And the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" I say. "What do you know of it?" 

"Safe. We have kept it safe. Are-- Are you looking to give your respects to Andraste?" he asks in a hushed voice. 

"I need the location," I press. 

"I... I must not betray Andraste," Jasper says softly. "Whatever you claim, I do not know what your purpose is." 

"I'm not asking you to," I say. "Please. Just tell me where I need to go. I have no intention of bringing harm to you or anyone you care about." 

"We do not trust outsiders easily," Jasper says. 

I pull out a knife and cut the palm of my hand. Jasper tenses, eyes widening in terror as I do so. I collect a bit of blood in a vial and then cast a quick spell to seal up the wound, and then pass the vial over to him to show him. 

"Do you recognize this?" I say. "Do you know what this is?" 

Dragon's blood is a subtly different color than human blood, but most people wouldn't recognize the difference on sight. The smell and taste are also a little different, if one knows what to look for. Jasper examines it, sniffs it closely, places a tiny amount of it on his tongue. 

"This _is_ dragon's blood," he says in surprise. "But how? I saw it come out of your hand..." 

"I told you," I say. "I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood. I did mean that literally." 

"I do not understand," Jasper says quietly, staring at me. 

"As a point, we're both mages, and if you were afraid of us using blood magic, well, we certainly could have at any point," Tom puts in casually. 

"Tell me why you are seeking the Urn, then," Jasper asks. 

"To pay my respects to Andraste, of course," I say with a grin. "Why else?" 

"I still am not certain whether I can trust you, but I feel that I have no choice," Jasper says. 

"There are always choices," I reply. "You could tell us what we need to know, yes. Or you could lie and send us on a merry dragon chase all over Thedas. Or refuse to tell us anything, making us decide to what lengths we want to go to to get the information. Or you could attack us and die like an idiot. People seem to love doing that last one for some reason. I have no idea why." 

Jasper sighs. "Alright. I will tell you. Our village is called Haven." 

He brings out a map and points out the location, and I mark it on my own map. It's quite a long way from here -- any further and it would be in Orlais and not even Ferelden any longer. For all that, we might as well go to Orzammar first. It's almost on the way as it is. Or at least it's not any further out of the way. 

"Thank you," I say. "I'll leave you here to continue whatever it was you were doing, then." 

"Making sure that no one else finds Brother Genitivi," Jasper replies. "The knights of Redcliffe have been searching for him." 

I give a nod. "Farewell, then." 

Tom and I head out of the dwelling. "That was most... interesting," Tom says. "We could have probably gotten more information out of him, you know." 

"Probably," I say. "But not without making it clear that I have no idea what he's talking about. We got enough, though. Assuming that he actually gave us the correct location." 

"He did," Tom says. 

"You're sure of that?" 

"I was using Legilimency on it," Tom says. "He even made the mistake of meeting my eyes a couple of times while looking around shiftily to avoid looking at you." He grins broadly. 

"Find out anything interesting?" I ask. 

"Yes, but I won't say," Tom says coyly. 

"Tease," I say. 

"What can I say?" Tom says. "I just want to see your reaction when you find out the truth." 

"Now you've got me curious," I say. 

"Good." 


	21. Shifting Winds

I spread out my map on the table in the main room of the tent. The proprietor of this inn might wonder at why I rented a single small room for as many people as I have with me, and even moreso if anyone were to poke their heads in and see the room full of a tent. 

"Alright, here's the plan," I say. "We're going to head west to Orzammar next. Then we will cut south to the village of Haven and find the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Assuming that we actually find it there, we will return east to Redcliffe from there." 

"Do you really think the Urn of Sacred Ashes will be there?" Leliana says in an awed voice. 

"It is very likely, and a better lead than anything else we have," I say. "Unless we can get an 'audience' with Loghain and get him to tell us what sort of poison it was, or perhaps our resident expert in poisons might be able to help." 

"Hmm," Zevran says. "I could not know for certain without a sample of the poison in question, or at the very least, examining the arl and observing his symptoms, but from what you describe, I do not believe that there is an antidote." 

"Loghain would not have used something that was easily cured, of course," Alistair says. "It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he did intentionally choose something to which there was no known cure." 

"It would be what I would do, in his position," Zevran says with a shrug. 

Alistair casts a glare at me. "And don't you even make any comments about you being sure he had a good reason for it. I _don't_ want to hear it." 

"I wasn't going to say anything," I tell him. 

"I'm sure," Alistair says. "After all we've seen, can't you acknowledge that he's obviously gone completely mad?" 

"I will accept that it is a possibility," I allow. 

"Well, that's something," Alistair says. 

"However, it is entirely possible that he has information that we are not privy to," I comment. 

"Lexen!" Alistair says, glaring at me. "If you like him so much, why don't you just run off with him?" 

"What a coincidence," I say. "Next up I was going to discuss the possibility of seeking him out so long as we're in Denerim." 

"To kill him, maybe," Alistair says. 

"Hmm, good idea," I say. "I mean, Zevran, he'd expect you to come back and report in, wouldn't he?" 

"You want me to assassinate my former employer?" Zevran asks with a grin. 

"No, no," I say, holding up my hand. "I want you to get me in to see him." 

"This is dangerously reckless, Lexen," Wynne says. 

"Yep," I say. "So, if I get killed, saving the world is up to you, Alistair." I wink at him. 

"Is this really a good idea?" Leliana says. 

"Terrible idea," I say with a grin. 

"I think I can manage it," Zevran says, chuckling. "It would help if your lovely eyes were a little less distinctive, however." 

"Ah, of course," I say. I wave my fingers at my face and think _Colovaria_ , shifting my eyes to a dark brown color instead. "Better?" 

"If you could do that all this time, why did you not simply do this anytime you might be around people who were looking for you?" Aveline wonders. 

"I think I like the green-eyed look better," Zevran says. 

"If this goes wrong, this will probably get you killed as well, Zevran," I say. 

"What's life if you can't live dangerously?" Zevran says with a grin. "But if I can assist, then I shall do so, regardless of the dangers." 

I make some quick preparations, changing into leather armor more befitting an Antivan Crow, and head out with Zevran. I slip readily into the role, well enough to pass a casual inspection at any rate. Most people probably aren't going to know the difference. 

The disguise, such as it is, appears to be good enough to get us right into the royal palace. Nobody even gives me a second glance. Who knew that changing my eye color could be so effective? 

"State your name and business," demands a palace guard. 

"Zevran Arainai of the Antivan Crows, looking to see Teyrn Loghain to report upon my mission." 

"Very well," the guard says. 

After a bit of waiting and being shuffled past a couple more guards, we actually get in to see Teyrn Loghain. I hadn't thought it would actually be this easy. Now what's going to go wrong? 

"The assassin," Loghain says. "Have you located the Grey Wardens?" 

"Oh, yes, I did," Zevran says brightly. 

I wave a hand and dispel the charm over my eyes. "Good day." 

Loghain groans softly. "This was not a 'dead or alive' bounty," Loghain grumbles. "This was just _dead_. Was that too difficult to grasp?" 

"Not difficult to grasp, but much more difficult to accomplish," Zevran says lightly. 

"Give me one reason why I should not have both of you killed on the spot," Loghain growls. 

"I came to talk," I say. "Nothing more. I have no quarrel with you. However, given the attempts to kill me, I believed it prudent to clear things up, as it were. And given my support of you, I see no reason why you would wish _me_ dead. Perhaps you intended to kill Alistair instead?" 

"Are you aware of who he is?" Loghain asks. 

"The bastard brother of King Cailan," I reply. "And a potential threat to the throne if you are intending to retain control over Ferelden." 

"You are more perceptive of politics than I had given you credit for," Loghain says. "Do you know what I have to deal with here? Civil war, darkspawn at our doorstep, Grey Wardens, and assassins who can't do their jobs!" 

"I just want to stop the Blight, personally," I say. "I have no interest in stopping you from taking over the country and ruling it as you see fit." I shrug. 

"Still you insist that this is a Blight?" Loghain says. "This is merely a minor darkspawn incursion, Cailan's need for glory notwithstanding." 

I scowl. "Teyrn Loghain, ser... I swear to you on my life and my honor, _this is a Blight_." 

Loghain is quiet for a long moment and gives me a hard look that could peel my skin off. "How can you be certain of that? And why should I believe you?" 

I abruptly realize Duncan's dilemma in convincing anyone of the same. What am I to say? That everyone should rely upon my _dreams_ as evidence? It sounds absurd as I think of it, even as I know the truth. 

"I can say nothing that would convince you of it," I reply. "However, I will say this. Do you want to risk Ferelden on the chance that you are wrong?" 

"We do not need the Grey Wardens to defend ourselves," Loghain scoffs. 

"I may be a Grey Warden, but I'm also Fereldan," I say. "This is my home as much as yours." 

"I still think I should have you killed," Loghain mutters. 

"If that's what you think, if there is nothing I can do to convince you of my sincerity, then so be it," I say. "I could let Zevran finish the job and kill me, and kill Alistair, and you can face the Blight on your own." 

Loghain shakes his head. "No. Enough. If this is truly a Blight, then you can deal with it yourself. I have a civil war to contend with. But I am not removing the bounty. And if Alistair so much as _looks_ at the throne, I will have _both_ of you killed. I do not want to see him again, even if you have to kill him yourself. Is that understood?" 

"Perfectly," I say, bowing to him. "If I might venture a question, why did you have Arl Eamon poisoned?" 

"I am not discussing this with you," Loghain growls. "Get out before I change my mind." 

"Yes, ser," I say. "May the Maker watch over you." I turn on my heel and quickly leave the room. 

"Well, that went better than I had expected," Zevran says lightly. "He let both of us walk out of there!" 

"You should've asked if you could get paid for killing Alistair," Mouse pipes up. "He's probably going to piss you off and wind up dead anyway, so you might as well get something out of it." 

"Loghain is hot enough that I'd let him kill me," I comment. 

"And what about me?" Zevran says coyly. "How hot do you think I am?" 

"Hot as molten lava," I reply. "Anytime you want it, you have but to ask." 

"Are we still talking about killing?" Zevran wonders. 

"Sex and death go hand in hand, don't they?" I say. 

We make it back to the inn and step inside the tent. 

"You're back," Tom says. "How did it go?" 

"Quite well, in fact," I reply. "He let us walk out of there alive." 

"I told you this was a bad idea," Alistair says. "Are you convinced that he's insane now?" 

"No, but he thinks you're a threat to the throne and promised to have us both killed if you ever think about trying to become king," I reply. 

"Believe me, I _don't want it_ ," Alistair says. 

"Then that won't be a problem," I say with a smile. 

* * *

We set out from Denerim on the western road the next morning. 

"I hear you have a spell to prevent eavesdropping," Zevran comments, coming up to me as we're walking. "That must be very handy." 

"It is," I say. "I think I must paranoidly cast it dozens of times a day." 

"Sometimes I wish I were a mage," Zevran says. "But the whole thing about being dragged off by templars and locked away is not appealing at all. Nor is the looming prospect of demonic possession. All in all, I'd say I am content with where I am." 

"It has its benefits," I say with a shrug. "Did you want to ask me something without the others hearing?" 

"Ah, yes," Zevran says. 

"Ask away," I say. "I've got the spell up. I put it up the minute you walked up to me." 

"Oh, I was simply going to say, if you ever wanted me to kill Alistair, just say the word." 

I shake my head. "If anyone's to die, I'd rather do it myself, honestly." 

"Ah, you just want to keep all the fun to yourself," Zevran says. "But, just so you know, the offer stands, for him or anyone else you might ever want dead." 

"I'll keep it in mind," I say. 

One evening when we're camped for the night, I overhear Tom and Zevran talking. We're all in one magic tent, and Tom clearly has neglected to cast a privacy charm, or just isn't as paranoid as I am. 

"What are you doing with all the deathroot?" Zevran asks. "Planning to kill someone?" 

"Making Dreamless Sleep potion," Tom says. "I couldn't use my usual ingredients. They don't grow in this climate." 

"Having nightmares?" Zevran asks. 

Tom shakes his head. "No. It's for Lexen." He sighs. "This potion is a poison. I'm slowly killing him in order to keep him sane. It's an acceptable tradeoff. I just hope this Blight doesn't go on for too much longer." 

I hadn't realized it was quite that serious. I wonder if it would be better to stop taking it, or to use it in more moderation. But he has a point. Without it, the darkspawn dreams are liable to drive me mad. Best to just keep at it for as long as possible. 

"Are you ready for tonight's lessons, Lexen?" Morrigan says from behind me, almost making me jump in surprise. 

"Ah, yes, of course," I say. 

"One might hope that you will actually succeed at this eventually," Morrigan says dryly. 

"I'm sure he will," Mouse puts in, sitting on the table and nibbling on a cookie. "He's the greatest mage alive, after all." 

"I shall refrain from comment," Morrigan says. 

"That's unusually polite of you," I say. 

"More that I think if I discourage you any further, you might never manage this," Morrigan says. "Even if I do have my doubts that you are even capable of learning to change form." 

"Of course I am!" I insist. "I'll do it. I'll show you." 

"Oho, giving him a challenge, are you?" Mouse says. "Come on, Lexen! Prove her wrong! You can do it!" 

I bring to mind the spells Morrigan taught me and run through the routines, weaving the magic necessary to change my shape. I focus on the form and movements of the mouse. The thought of being small, of hiding, of slipping into places few others can reach. 

Nothing. It's still not working. 

"Andraste's flaming ass," I mutter. "Maybe I'm just going about this in the wrong way." 

Morrigan sighs in frustration. "Perhaps you should try something other than a mouse, then." 

"You said I needed to study the creature and learn about it," I say. "I haven't really had a chance to study anything else." 

"Have you never encountered any other animals?" Morrigan says. "Nothing else that you might feel a connection to?" 

"I don't know," I say. "I was never around snakes as much as Tom. I had an owl once, but I don't know about that. Um... Dragons are awesome?" 

Morrigan looks at me as though I'm insane. "You cannot turn into a mouse, but you think you can turn into a dragon?" 

"Probably not, but I wish I could?" 

"Let us step outside for a moment," Morrigan says. 

We leave the tent and walk a little ways away. Sten, standing watch at the moment, hardly gives us a glance. At least until Mouse scurries out behind us, still carrying a bit of cookie in his mouth. 

"That infernal rodent made off with my cookies!" Sten growls. 

I blink, turning toward him. I've never seen him actually _angry_ before, but here he looks as though he's about to stomp Mouse flat into the ground. Mouse scrambles up my leg and into my pocket. 

"Warden-Commander, your pet has been getting into the food stores," Sten says. 

"I suppose I haven't been feeding him enough," I say. "We'll buy some more cookies at the next town." 

Sten glares at Mouse for a moment longer, and then seems mollified, and returns to his watch. 

Morrigan and I move a bit further away out of sight, and Mouse climbs out of my pocket again to sit on a nearby rock. 

"Very well," Morrigan says. "I highly doubt that you can actually turn into a dragon, never mind anything else, but you might as well give it a try." 

"Alright," I say. 

I go through the spell again, carefully and precisely repeating the instructions, and focusing my thoughts on being a dragon. Scales and wings, wind and flame. My blood sings within me, feeling like it is on fire. 

But something is still missing. Something is just out of reach, that I can't quite grasp. I remain firmly human. After several minutes without a change, I let the magic go with a sigh. 

"See?" Morrigan says. "I told you you could not do it." 

"I almost did," I say. "I could _feel_ it. I _almost_ had it." 

"Still, perhaps you should try for something easier first," Morrigan says. "If a mouse does not suit you, perhaps a bird instead?" 

"A bird?" I say. "I don't like flying." 

Morrigan rolls her eyes. "And yet you want to be a dragon?" 

"True, I suppose." 

"Look," Morrigan says, pointing toward a crow hopping on the ground nearby, pecking at crumbs Mouse had left in his wake. "Watch the crow," she says quietly. "Observe it. See how it moves. Understand what it is to _be_ a crow." 

I watch, although I'm not sure what sort of meaning I might be looking for. What am I to be comprehending? 

The bird plucks up the cookie crumbs with its beak, and when they are gone, it flies off to perch upon a nearby branch. It looks down at us, watching, perhaps hoping that more crumbs might fall that it can snatch up. It's a scavenger, looking to make its way in the world any way it can, to take the castoffs left behind by others for its own. And yet, in its own way, the crow is proud of what it is. It feels no shame. The crow is free, and what is that to feel shame about? 

I cast the spell, weave the magic, let it flow through me. This time, something happens. I feel myself changing. My body shifts, grows smaller, lighter. My arms sprout feathers, my legs turn to talons, my face becomes a beak. The world suddenly seems so much larger, but the world is wonderful, and _I am free_. 

"Congratulations," Morrigan says. "It seems you are capable of shapeshifting after all." 

I spread my wings and leap into the air, and proceed to bury myself beak-first into the dirt. It would appear that merely changing my form does not automatically give me the ability to know how to use that form effectively. How bothersome. 

"If you wish to fly, you will need to actually learn how to fly, I'm afraid," Morrigan says. 

That crow sitting on the branch is still watching me in puzzlement, and I could swear that it's laughing at me now. Damned thing. 

Yes, I will practice. I will learn to fly. But for now, I am content in the knowledge that I can do this. I shift back into human form, beaming giddily, and go to head back into the tent. 

"I've got your latest batch of potions ready," Tom says, passing some vials over to me. "How did Morrigan's lesson go? From the look on your face, I take it things went well?" 

"I turned into a crow!" I say. 

"Excellent," Tom says with a grin. "The mouse wasn't working out?" 

"Apparently not," I say with a shrug. "Maybe I just couldn't get into a mousey frame of mind. But a crow? I got the crow down alright." 

"So, are you planning to become an assassin now?" Zevran says. 

I snicker softly. "I'm planning to practice this damned thing until I can shift in the blink of an eye, and learn to fly." 

"What, no witty comeback?" Zevran says. "I'm disappointed." 

"Sorry," I say. "Would you rather I make some lewd comment about daggers and possibly involving the phrase 'in bed'?" 

"Not unless you intend to follow through on that," Zevran says with a grin. 

"Not unless I get to watch," Tom adds lightly. 

"Ugh," Morrigan says from the doorway. "If you three are going to be so blatant about this, I would much appreciate if you would go into a room and put up privacy spells." 

"Sorry," I say. 

"No, you are not," Morrigan says. "Especially not with the way you grinned as you said that." 

* * *

In addition to practicing my newfound shapeshifting abilities, I also train at Apparation as we travel. I think I'm getting closer to success, but I haven't cared to actually push it far enough to where I'd might get killed from it since that first failed attempt. 

"You aren't going to get anywhere if you don't risk it," Mouse says, tail twitching on top of the fallen log he's seated upon this evening. "It's not like it's actually going to _kill_ you, after all." 

"True," I say with a shrug. "It's still unpleasant, though, and I want to make sure I really have it down." 

"You know, there's one surefire way of being able to teleport like this," Mouse says. 

"What's that?" I say. 

"Let me possess you." 

"I think I'll pass on that," I say. 

"Oh, come on," Mouse says. "We'd be great and you know it!" 

"I'm afraid I don't especially _like_ the idea of being an abomination," I reply. "You know I spent years practicing how to keep people out of my mind and how to shake off any form of mind control. I value free will and choice above all else. No one but me gets to control me." 

"Hmph," Mouse says. "Can't I just come along for the ride?" 

"You expect me to believe that a _pride demon_ would voluntarily relinquish control and play second fiddle to a 'mere mortal'?" 

"But you aren't a mere mortal!" Mouse says. "You're the greatest mage in the world!" 

I roll my eyes. "Not buying it, Mouse." 

"And what sort of pride demon would accept being a mere 'pet' to a mere mortal, for that matter?" 

"I've wondered that myself at times," I say. "What _are_ you doing here?" 

"I did make a bargain with you, although things didn't quite work out exactly the way I'd expected them to." 

"Yes, and what do _you_ really get out of all of this?" I ask. 

"Energy. Power," Mouse replies. "I'm a pride demon, you know. Demons _feed_ on emotion. It makes us stronger. And pride is something you have in spades. It's like a feast of cookies every day." 

"And what do you intend to do with that power?" I wonder. 

"For now? I'm just biding my time. _This_ world is fascinating enough, but the prospect of seeing world after world? It intrigues me. Are there demons in other worlds, I wonder? Are they like the ones here?" 

"There are," I say. "Although I'm afraid I'm not too familiar with them. I usually _killed_ the ones I ran across." 

"Eh, most of them are idiots, anyway," Mouse says. 

"But you mean to tell me that you're more curious than interested in, say, ruling the multiverse or something?" I ask. 

"Why are you and your friends not interested in ruling the multiverse?" Mouse retorts. 

"Because it's pointless," I say. "The multiverse is infinite, or very nearly so. Why seek to rule a single world when you can learn everything you can from a thousand worlds? Personal power and knowledge are the only things that matter, in the long run. Having a million followers is less useful than having the skill and ability to gain a million followers if you so desire it." 

"Exactly so," Mouse says. "Lexen, we have a Soul Bond. That connection grows steadily stronger. And what's more, it means I'm feeding on _your_ emotions. The more of you I take in, the more _like_ you I become." 

"I see," I say. "I didn't realize that." 

"This is why most demons try to take control when they possess someone. Otherwise, their very nature could change. Me? I'm a pride demon. I'm more used to dealing with complex emotions and intellect than most, but not like this. I'm not sure where this is going, but more and more, I find myself wanting the same things you want." Mouse snorts softly. "What pride is there in being a bit of flotsam cast about by the storm?" 

"And that's why you want to possess me?" I say with a smirk. "So you can take control of your destiny and not be subject to the whims of that storm?" 

"I don't think I would even be able to control you at this point," Mouse says. "We're too much alike. Our thoughts would be one. Our souls would sing in harmony." 

"I don't know about this," I say. 

"What do you have to lose? We're already bound anyway." 

"My freedom, my sanity, my existence," I reply. 

"It would be foolish of me to destroy the very things that grant me power and the ability to traverse time and space in the realm of mortals." 

"Still, no amount of gain is worth that risk," I say. 

"Your paranoia is understandable," Mouse says. "You seek self-preservation above all else. All beings that are not completely mad would agree with that. But, have I given you no cause to trust me?" 

"I don't know if I can afford _not_ to trust you," I say with a sigh. 

"Then let's do this," Mouse says. "If you cannot trust me, then you should not have me along at all and seek to sever this bond." 

I give a nod and take a deep breath. "Very well. Let's do it already." 

Something slowly slips into me, like frozen fire within my very soul. I stagger and fall forward onto the ground, my palms pressing against the mossy forest floor. I shiver uncontrollably, and it seems like my very vein burns with electricity. 

My body doesn't change form this time, however. Instead, there is merely a presence inside of me, pressing into my mind. 

_Yes... At last you are mine._

My blood chills and my heart jolts in panic. Fuck. Did he trick me, again? How long has he been using me? Lying to me? 

_You would trust in a being whose first encounter with you was in treachery and deceit?_

My first encounter with many people has been in deceit. There are few who I have been willing to tell the truth of who and what I am to. Is that any better, I wonder? 

I struggle to maintain control over my body and mind. You will not control me! 

I roll onto my back, barely managing that motion, and squint up into the noonday sun. In my mind, in my soul, there's a war going on. Scrabbling at my thoughts, tearing at my emotions, burning at my heart. 

Desperation. Time seems to be moving incredibly slow. The leaves of the trees above me seem to be moving in slow motion in the wind. What is going on? 

_You have no idea the extent of your own powers. There will be no help for you._

Time... Stops... 

I did not know I could do this. How long did it take him to figure out that I could do this? He certainly hadn't realized it back in the Circle Tower, or that fight would have gone very differently. 

_I've been watching you fight. Sometimes you use it unconsciously. But it didn't really click until your fight with that pirate duelist, Isabela. You were trying to compensate for her speed, and it wasn't quite working._

I have such power that it aches, it makes me yearn for more, to know... There are so many things that I could do that I still have no inkling of. 

_We could be great together..._

But that would not really be me. 

I must have my freedom. 

The noonday sun hangs motionless in the sky. Blinding. Bright. 

I will not let anyone control me. I struggle and gain control over my body, my mouth, my hands. I move, even as the world around me is still. 

I will take my freedom! 

I fill myself up with magic. I call upon the light, the shining sun, positive emotions, happy memories. 

The rainbow after the storm; strife is fleeting, this too shall pass. The taste of pancakes; hope for change. Tom declares his love for me. Tom cleanses himself on the Summer Solstice. Cassie rescues me from Azkaban. Wishes fulfilled. Hopes restored. Regrets soothed. Salvation. Joy. Redemption. Liberty. 

" _EXPECTO--_ " 

Even as I shout it, the demon in my mind is clawing at my thoughts, trying to bring down my emotions, but in this moment, I am as the shining sun. Nothing will stop me now. 

" _PATRONUM!_ " 

Blinding white light fills my vision. I was unable to bring out my wand this time. I could not move my body enough. And yet, my spirit protector has come for me regardless. 

Happiness fills me, bolstering me, comforting me, giving me strength. 

There is a war in my mind, in my soul. Light battles darkness, hope stands against despair. 

I finally, at long last, realize the identity of my Patronus. _Liberty_. A spirit born of my own emotions, as much a part of me as my hands and face. 

_You cannot do this!_

I've found that what people believe to be impossible is rarely so. 

"I will take my freedom..." I say aloud. 

I climb to my feet slowly, and yet it's still only in an instant. The world is frozen, and the wind is deadly still. I reach into my bag and pull out my wand. 

_What are you doing?_

"Getting rid of you." 

Anger at being betrayed. Hatred at anyone that would try to control me. Desire to kill -- to be rid of this being once and for all. 

I turn my wand upon myself, and shout, " _AVADA KEDAVRA!_ " 

A rushing sound, a flash of green light fills my face. 

A strong wind rushes through my soul. Ethereal claws tear at me as they themselves are torn away. I collapse into the dirt face-first. 

The sun continues to shine down. A cool breeze teases at my hair, and a leaf brushes against my fingers. 

I can't believe I just did that. Moreso, I can't believe I survived that. 

Tom is at my side. "Lexen. Lexen, can you hear me?" 

I groan softly and roll over to look up at him, his face silhouetted against the starry sky. 

"Maker, don't scare me like that," Tom says. "I felt our bond shake, and you, I thought you were out as cold as Arl Eamon. What happened?" 

"Check my bonds, Tom... Please." 

Tom frowns and examines me closely. "You've lost the pride demon. How'd you accomplish that?" 

"Thank the Maker," I murmur, slowly climbing to my feet and frowning up at the sky. "How long?" 

"Three days," Tom says. 

"Why does it always have to be three days?" I mutter, sighing. 

"We couldn't move you," Tom says. "We couldn't even touch you. So we took shifts watching you, waiting to see when you came out." 

"You couldn't touch me?" I wonder. 

Tom shakes his head. "When we tried, our hands just... stopped, wouldn't move any further. It was no sort of shield I'm familiar with, and that's impressive." 

I grab the wand that had fallen next to me, and rise to my feet. I have to wonder. I just have to know. I think of the rainbow after the storm, and say, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " 

Nothing happens. Not even a flicker, a glimmer of light. 

Tom frowns. "What happened to your Patronus?" 

"I don't know," I say, scowling. 

Liberty. I'd just learned her name, I'd learned her true nature, I'd understood what she was. And now... she's gone? 

With a sickening feeling, I think I know what happened. She gave herself so that I might be free of the demon. Maybe I didn't need to cast the Killing Curse after all. Or maybe that was simply the price of being rid of a demon in that manner. I don't know. Whatever the details are, I don't really understand. I just have the sinking feeling that I will never see my precious duck again. 

Hands trembling, body shaking, I clutch onto Tom and bury my face into his shoulder. There is neither joy nor pride in me tonight. 


	22. Duty Like a Mountain

"What exactly happened back there?" Wynne asks, coming up to me on the road. "I was... concerned for you." 

I sigh, and absently put up a privacy spell. I don't really want to discuss this with everyone. I've already told Tom the details, of course. He'll support me no matter what happens. But right now, I think I'm looking for guilt and blame. 

"I was possessed by a pride demon," I reply quietly. 

"Oh, Maker," Wynne whispers. 

"I... managed to get rid of it, but I think it cost me more than I really know just yet," I say, shaking my head. "I'm a victim of my own stupid, foolish arrogance." 

"Far greater men than you have fallen to pride," Wynne says. 

"The group should have continued on without me," I say. "Tom and Rispy wouldn't have left me, but the rest of you could've been a fair bit further on the road by now." 

"That's not your fault," Wynne says. 

"It _is_ my fault," I insist, spinning toward her. "Don't you see? I _allowed_ myself to be possessed by a pride demon! I didn't even succeed at my Harrowing, you know. Instead I made a deal with his demon that the templars didn't know about. We thought ourselves clever for it." 

"You... brought this demon from your Harrowing?" 

I nod. "He's been travelling with us all this time. Promising power. Telling me about the Fade. Getting me to let my guard down, to trust him... And I trusted him. He tricked me, just as surely as he did the first time. I'm such a fool." I sigh. 

"But you realize your mistake now," Wynne says gently. 

"I realized my mistake," I say quietly. "And realized just how fucking dangerous it would be to have a pride demon in control of my powers. It... horrifies me to think what he could have done. _No one_ would have been able to stop him." 

"The templars--" 

"The templars nothing," I snap. "Do you know what I am, Wynne? Do you have any idea what I could be capable of? I only have the barest inkling of my potential, and it took seeing a demon take control of it to make me realize just what I might be able to do. And what it very nearly inflicted upon the universe." 

"That is why we must always be wary," Wynne says. "One slip, and everything you are, gone. You are more fortunate than most. How did you manage to free yourself?" 

"Certainly not through sheer force of will," I say quietly. "A spirit... A spirit of freedom... sacrificed herself to save me. I know that spirit has been looking out for me for years, and now... she's gone. I don't know whether she was actually destroyed or what, but... I don't think I'm ever going to see her again either way." 

"I see," Wynne says quietly. "Very fortunate indeed. That sounds a little like what happened to me, in the Circle Tower. I was gravely wounded in a battle with a demon, and a spirit... a spirit of faith, I believe... brought me back to the world." 

I look at her thoughtfully. "That would explain why you were able to summon it so easily." 

"What do you mean?" Wynne asks. 

"The spell I taught you," I say. "The Patronus Charm. It... appears to summon a benevolent spirit to protect you. Always the same one for any given person. I... didn't really understand it until it was too late. I'm still not sure I really understand it." 

It aches in my heart, the loss of something I'd thought would be with me for eternity. Everything I might have learned and gained in this world is not worth that price. And it was all due to my own mistakes. 

Wynne is quiet for a long moment, and says, "I hope that you can learn from your mistakes, that you might never repeat them, and be more wary in the future." 

"That's all I can really do, isn't it," I murmur. 

"It's all anyone can do," Wynne says. 

"Still," I say. "I don't think I should be leading this party. I'm not worthy of being anyone's leader. And how can I ask anyone to trust me when I cannot trust myself?" 

"You took on this responsibility, did you not?" Wynne says. "You have a duty to see this through, no matter what happens, no matter what setbacks befall you." 

"Responsibility? Duty? I didn't take up this mantle for any such things. I took it up out of arrogant pride, just so I could give orders to people." 

"And now you don't want it anymore?" Wynne says. "Now you seek it set it aside?" 

"I don't want it anymore," I repeat. "Someone else should do it instead." 

"They say that the best leaders are those who do not wish to lead," Wynne says. "And whatever you wish, you still have that duty." 

I sigh. "I don't think I've known duty or responsibility in my entire life. But perhaps, for the sake of the world, I'll have to try." 

"That's all that can be asked of you," Wynne says. 

* * *

_Duty_ is a word that weighs on my shoulders like a mountain. But even as it does, it gives me purpose and strength. It gives me the will to continue on, and not to wallow in angst. 

And so, we arrive in the Frostback Mountains, and stride up toward the gates of Orzammar. Ferelden is a chilly land in general, but up here, the wind whips around with biting cold that gnaws at every exposed bit of skin and into every weakness in my armor. I don't bother to cast a Warming Charm, however. Today, I want to experience the world as it really is. 

"Keep an eye out for a guy named Faryn," Rispy says next to me. 

"Human or dwarf?" I ask, glancing about at the merchants and travelers gathered outside the gates. 

"Human, I think," Rispy says. 

I give a nod, and start casting silent Naming Charms at each of the people I see, starting with the humans. "There he is," I say, nodding toward a man standing off to the side. 

"Sten," Rispy says, turning toward the Qunari. "I think we've found the man." 

I raise an eyebrow and follow after as Rispy and Sten approach the man named Faryn. 

"Where is my sword?" Sten demands. 

"I don't know what you mean," Faryn says. 

"This _is_ Faryn, isn't it?" Rispy says. 

"Y--Yes, I'm Faryn." 

"Then I suggest you cough up the sword," Rispy presses. 

"A Qunari sword?" Faryn says. "I'm sorry. I don't have it anymore. I swear, I sold it on the way here." 

Rispy sighs and rolls his eyes. "Who did you sell it to?" 

"A dwarf, down by Lake Calenhad. Dwyn was his name. Said he collects weapons." 

"The dwarf in Redcliffe?" Rispy says, snorting softly. "It would figure." 

We walk away from Faryn, and I frown in confusion. "Sten, you're missing your sword?" 

"Yes," Sten says flatly, not elaborating. 

"Hmm," I say. "Let's set up camp. I want to try something before we head in." 

"Might as well set up out here anyway," Rispy says. "I doubt many of you are going to too much enjoy being down _there_ for too long." 

"Why not?" Morrigan asks. "The thought of being in such closed places, with stone overhead?" 

"Do you like the cold, Morrigan?" Rispy asks. "You would seem to enjoy it, the way you dress even up here." 

"I do," Morrigan says. "It suits me, as does the open air." 

"Then you'll hate Orzammar," Rispy says. "It's _hot_ in there. And closed in." 

"Hot as Zevran?" I ask. "Tight as Zevran?" 

"I refuse to dignity that comment with an answer," Rispy says with a snort. 

We set up the tent and head inside, and I have Tom stun me. "Good to see you're finally getting out of that funk you've been in," Tom says quietly. "What are you planning?" 

"Going to try Apparating again," I say. 

Tom nods, and I step out of the tent and go a little bit away from it out of sight. That damned pride demon who had pretended to be my friend... he did try to teach me. I don't know why. Perhaps to try to let my guard down. Perhaps because my success would lead me into greater trouble, or open the way for him somehow. This is incredibly dangerous. I don't know whether I might succeed, or if I succeed, whether I might wind up possessed again or something. I'm no longer so arrogant as to think I can do anything. 

But if I don't try, what's the point? What is life if I do not take a risk? I have to know if this is possible. 

I bring to mind the village of Redcliffe. I picture the tree on the cliff overhead, the rippling water of Lake Calenhad to the north, the doors to the Chantry, the clanging of the blacksmith, the looming castle and the creaking waterwheel. I call forth my magic, and Apparate. 

The sensation of being squeezed through a tube is familiar, but the spirits clawing at me are not. But by a demon's advice, I have a shield up that might protect me against them. I focus. Concentrate. I keep my destination firmly in mind. I cannot afford to be distracted. Their claws scrabble against my shield, pounding, hammering away, and it seems about to collapse-- 

Redcliffe. The physical world pops into my vision again, and I stagger for a moment. I made it. I'm standing in Redcliffe, next to the waterwheel. Villagers are staring at me, and a templar has a sword out pointed at me warily. 

"It's alright," I say quickly, holding out my hands. "It's me, Warden-Commander Lexen. The one who helped to save this village not long ago?" 

"Lexen?" the templar says, lowering his sword. "How did you get here? You appeared out of nowhere..." 

I give a nod. "I was experimenting to find a way to traverse space instantly. I appear to have succeeded, but Maker, it's dangerous. I'm not looking forward to the return trip." 

The templar's eyes widen. "May the Maker guide your steps, then, Warden-Commander. You take great risks in your battle against the darkspawn." He puts his sword away. 

Still a bit shaken by the experience, I head over toward the home belonging to the dwarf, asking directions of a couple townsfolk along the way to find the right building. 

"Aren't you that Grey Warden?" says the dwarf. "Shouldn't you be off celebrating saving Redcliffe, or preparing for the Blight, or something?" 

"I'm looking for a Qunari sword," I say. "I heard that you recently purchased one." 

"Why would you be interested in something like that?" Dwyn says. "And how much is it worth to you, exactly?" 

"How much did you pay for it?" I ask. 

"Six sovereigns," Dwyn replies. 

"Did you really?" I say, lips quirking. "I can tell if you're lying, you know." 

"No you can't," Dwyn says. "Dwarves are resistant to magic, especially the mind-poking variety." 

"Who said anything about magic?" I say. "And anyway, the sword was scavenged by someone who clearly had no idea of its value. I doubt he charged you over a sovereign for it, and would have been glad to make off with a pocket full of silver. Now, I'll give you two sovereigns for it. How's that sound?" 

"Good enough," Dwyn says, and I pass over the coins to him. "Here." He goes back and opens up a chest, and passes over a large sword to me. "Now take it and leave me alone, will you?" 

I head out of the building, and shove the sword into my bag of holding, although not before checking to make certain that my bag wasn't damaged by my trip through the Fade. So long as I'm here, I go over to check on the Hawkes and Kirlin. They're still at the castle. 

"Any change?" I ask. 

"I would have sent you a Patronus if there had been," Kirlin says, shaking her head. "He's still comatose. I hope you can find a cure soon." 

"He's not getting worse, is he?" I ask. 

"Bethany and I have been able to keep his condition stable," Kirlin says. "But we've been expending a lot of energy keeping him as physically healthy as possible when he can't eat or drink anything in his condition." 

"Any problems with Connor?" 

Kirlin shakes his head. "He doesn't seem to remember anything of when he was possessed, although maybe he's just faking it because he doesn't want to deal with it. I don't know. Still, he's a lot better now. There hasn't been any recurrence of any demonic incidents." 

"Good," I say, nodding. "My group has just reached Orzammar, and we've got a good lead on the Urn of Sacred Ashes. If you can give us a few more weeks, we might be able to get back with a cure." I sigh. "Of course, all these ifs rely on the Urn being where our contact in Denerim said he was, and it actually having the properties attributed to it. But it's better than nothing, right?" 

"Wait, Orzammar?" Kirlin says. "What are you doing here, then?" 

I grin faintly. "Found a way to get from place to place in the blink of an eye. It's _extremely_ dangerous, though. I don't recommend anyone else try it unless they're willing to risk never coming back." 

"Maker's breath," Kirlin says. "I should say not! And you're going to do this again to get back to the other Grey Wardens?" 

I give a nod. "I should be alright, if I'm careful. I did manage to make it here, after all. But unless I come up with a better method, this is _not_ something I want to teach you, for your own safety. I can understand why few mages dared to try something like this." 

"I won't ask, if it's really that dangerous," Kirlin says, frowning. "What happened to the mouse?" 

I wince. "You were right, and I'm an idiot, and I don't want to talk about it." 

"Very well. May the Maker watch over you, then." 

I think I like that phrase a lot better than 'Good luck'. I suddenly remember the shopping she asked me to do in Denerim, and pull out the little totem and set it on a nearby table. "There, hope you're happy." I smirk, and head out without another word. 

I step into a quiet side room to repeat the feat. It might not be necessary to Apparate while out of sight of anyone, but I'm used to doing it, and at least it ensures that my concentration is uninterrupted. 

It's a little easier this time for the practice. I know what to do now, how to adjust my shields for better effect, what to guard against. I concentrate on the bitter wind and the icy peaks of the Frostback Mountains, the merchant tents sprouting up like mushrooms, the enormous gates carved into the rock. Demons tear at me as I pass through the Veil, but in the blink of a nightmare, I'm there. 

"You're back," Tom says, breathing a sigh of relief. "I was afraid for a moment that if you got trapped in the Fade, I'd not realize you were lost until it was too late." 

"Sorry to keep you waiting," I say. "I checked in on Arl Eamon, Kirlin, and your family while I was there. Things are just as they were when we left them." 

I locate Sten and Rispy closer to the gates, having been talking to some of the dwarves there, and approach them. I pull out the large sword from my bag and offer it to the Qunari. 

"Is this what you were looking for?" 

Sten takes the sword almost reverently, and says, "Yes. This is it." He holds the blade before him and gazes at it for a long moment. "Strange, I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be complete." 

"What will you do now?" Rispy asks. 

"I have my blade again," Sten says. "I should put it to use. There are darkspawn to be killed, are there not?" 

"Indeed there are," I say, turning and heading toward the gates. 

"A human, now?" says a dwarf standing guard at the gates. "This filthy brand claimed to be a Grey Warden." 

"He is," I reply. "I am Warden-Commander Lexen." 

"Well, you can't come in either, I'm afraid," the guard says. 

"Why not?" Tom asks. 

"Orzammar has closed its gates until the throne is settled," the guard says. "King Endrin Aeducan died recently, and the Assembly has voted several times and failed to agree upon a successor." 

I sigh. "A Blight is upon us. The Grey Wardens require the aid of the dwarves against the darkspawn. And if you need more than my word on that, then take a look at this." I pull out the scroll of the dwarven treaty and show it to him. 

"Hmm, this does look legitimate. Very well. You may pass." He casts a glare toward Rispy. "Even the brand, if he's really a Grey Warden as you claim." 

"Thank you," I say. 

I go to gather up the others before heading down, to see if anyone wants to stay topside. However, as uncomfortable as Orzammar sounds, they'd all rather come down with me. Their faith in me is uncomfortable to _me_ , after all that's happened. But I can't argue with it. I have a duty. I have responsibility. I gather up the tent and lead them into Orzammar. 

The dwarves open up the massive gates to allow us inside. We pass down through a hallway filled with larger than life statues of dwarves. For all their short stature, the dwarves certainly love to build things big. 

"Are these statues of anyone in particular?" I wonder, stopping to stare up at one of them depicting a dwarven female. 

"This is the Paragon Branka, surfacer," says a dwarf standing nearby. "These statues depict the Paragons. The greatest among us, revered as ancestors even in life." 

"What was this Branka known for?" I ask. 

"She is a great smith who created a new type of smokeless fuel." 

"Is?" I say. 

"Is, was," the dwarf says with a shrug. "If she lives yet, I am not one to know. She went into the Deep Roads two years ago and has yet to return." 

"I see," I say. "Thank you for the information." 

We continue on into the city proper. As we enter into the commons, there appears to be some sort of argument going on, although I'm not entirely certain of the details thereof, and one dwarf is murdered before our very eyes. 

"You were right, Rispy," Morrigan says. "Tis indeed uncomfortably warm in here." 

"But a bit more blood and it will feel right at home," Zevran adds. 

An armored dwarf comes up to us and says, "Veata, surfacers." 

"What does 'veata' mean?" I ask. "Is that a greeting?" 

"It means 'stop'," Rispy supplies helpfully. 

"I am the captain of the guard. What is your business in Orzammar?" 

"We are Grey Wardens seeking assistance against the Blight," I say. 

"Then I bid you welcome," the captain says. "And I hope that you do not intend to disrupt order in this city." 

"That is not my intention, although I'm uncertain that I can say the same for Rispy..." I say with a smirk, glancing aside to him. 

"That was once!" Rispy protests. 

"Rispy?" the captain says. "I've heard that name before..." He examines him closely. "Rispy Brosca? The duster who defiled the Proving? You have a lot of nerve showing your face in the commons again! I'd thought you dead, or at least crawled into a hole so deep we'd never see your branded face again." 

"I'm a Grey Warden now," Rispy says, looking back at him defiantly. 

The captain grunts. "The Grey Wardens must truly be desperate if they would recruit the likes of you." 

"A veritable ragtag band of misfits, we are," Tom says lightly. 

"I don't know what help you might find for your Blight here," the captain says. "There's no king to hear your requests for aid. But I'll have someone show you to the Warden headquarters in the Diamond Quarter." 

"Thank you," I say. "It would be much appreciated." 

The captain calls over a guard who shows us up the stairs into the wealthier parts of Orzammar. It's somewhat telling that the dwarves seem to respect the Grey Wardens so much that, even in the limited spaces of their underground city, they have a permanent residence set aside for them. For us, I should say. I'm a Grey Warden, and this is my duty. As awkward as it feels at the moment. 

"Nice place," I say, glancing around and making sure there's room enough to open up the tent. "Still like my tent better." 

"I think we _all_ like your tent, Lexen," Leliana says. 

I spread out my map on the table in the main room in the tent and poke at it with my wand. "I think we might be close enough now that I can get Scregor to show up on this thing." 

"I don't think it's proximity that was the problem," Tom says. "You're the only one of us who is familiar with him, so you need to do it. And you're horrible at charms." 

"I am not," I protest. 

"You work very, very hard at not _completely_ failing at them," Tom says with a smirk. 

I carefully wave my wand over the parchment, trying to get it to work, and sigh. "Alright, I'm really not good at this." 

Tom pats me on the shoulder. "Take as long as you need. The rest of us can scour the town and dig up whatever news and work we can find." 

I give a nod. "Do it. Just do make sure not to get us thrown out or something, please." 

There's a knock at the door, and Zevran goes over to answer it. A well-dressed redheaded female dwarf comes inside as Zevran leads her into the tent. She has a tattoo on her face just like Rispy's. She stares wide-eyed at the inside of the tent, but makes no comment. 

"Rica?" Rispy says, eyes lighting up as he sees her. 

"It _is_ you!" Rica says, running over to hug him. "I could scarcely believe it when I heard my dear brother had come through the gates to the surface. And you're a Grey Warden now?" 

"I am," Rispy says. "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to talk to you before I made a break for the surface." 

"It's alright," Rica says. "Under the circumstances, there wasn't much else you could do, and I'm glad you made it out safely. I'm just happy to see you alive at all." 

"And what's all this?" Rispy says, gesturing to her with a grin. "You're all dressed up in jewels. Somebody's been treating you right, I see." 

"Oh, yes," Rica says. "You remember that patron I told you about? The one who was interested in me? You're never going to believe who it is." 

"Who?" Rispy asks. 

"It's Prince Bhelen Aeducan!" Rica says, beaming. "Soon, he will be king. And our son--" 

" _Son?_ " Rispy says incredulously. "You have a son? I didn't even realize you were pregnant!" 

"I wasn't certain myself, for the longest time," Rica says. "And when I realized, well, I didn't want to tell anyone or get my hopes up. There was always a chance it could be a girl, after all, and then I'd be... in far worse trouble." 

"By the ancestors," Rispy murmurs. 

"With the help of you and your new friends, Bhelen could gain the throne much more easily," Rica says. "Will you support him?" She turns away from Rispy and scans the rest of us questioningly. 

I reply, "I know nothing of dwarven politics, and don't like to get involved when I don't have all the information I need. But I'll support Rispy, whatever he decides to do." 

"Aeducan..." Tom says thoughtfully, looking to me. "Didn't you mention a Scregor Aeducan?" 

Rica frowns. "He was one of Bhelen's two older brothers, yes. But the eldest, Prince Trian, was betrayed and murdered by the second son, Scregor, who was exiled into the Deep Roads and is probably dead himself by now." 

"Ah, nobles playing their deadly games with one another," Zevran says. "Definitely reminds me of home." 

"What would happen if Scregor were to come back?" I ask. 

"Well," Rica says. "He was supposed to be exiled, so they'd likely kill him on sight." 

"What if he were exonerated?" 

"I... Well, I really don't know," Rica says doubtfully. "He was the favorite to become king, before the kinslaying business. Why? Do you know something?" 

I shake my head. "Just speaking in hypotheticals," I say. "Don't mind me. I'm an outsider here, and I don't know what really happened. So Bhelen is a candidate for the throne, I take it? Who is opposing him?" 

"Lord Harrowmont," Rica says. "He was the adviser to the previous king. He claims that King Endrin named him as his successor on his deathbed." 

I give a nod. "Alright. Rispy, Sten, Morrigan, Zevran: I want you to check out Bhelen and meet with him if you can. Wynne, Wesley, Aveline, Leliana: Look into this Lord Harrowmont for me. Tom, Alistair: Do some scouting around town. Maybe hit the local tavern and dig up some rumors. The more information we have to work with, the better. Meet back here later to debrief and compare notes." 

Tom gives a nod. "We'll see what we can do." 

Rica heads out with the first team, and the second one leaves shortly afterward. Before Tom leaves, he comes over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. 

"It's been almost a month," Tom says. "Do you think Scregor is still alive?" 

"I think... Yes! Got it!" I point to my map, to one little black dot out under the mountains beyond Orzammar. "He's alive. And he's... right... there." I grin broadly up at him. "I think I'll be heading out along with you. We've got another city to map." 


	23. Dwarven Politics

I head out of the Grey Warden stronghold in Orzammar along with Tom, Alistair, and Padfoot. We have scouting to do. I don't even bother hiding carrying around my map and wand. I'm a mage, and I've long since discovered that wands aren't quite as rare in Thedas as I'd first assumed. They just tend to be of cruder make than I'm used to. And regardless, the dwarves won't care. 

As the other two groups are making for different parts of the Diamond Quarter, I lead my team off toward the stairs again to check out the poorer parts of the city. I absently listen to the criers shouting out support for Bhelen or Harrowmont, and casually eavesdrop on the nobles as we go by. 

"I can't believe what this city is coming to," says a noble woman as we pass by. "Ah, you are the Grey Wardens? I had heard of your arrival." 

"We are," I say. "Word travels fast around here." 

"I am Nerav Helmi, third daughter of the second matron of House Helmi. I am sorry that you could not come to our fine city at a better time. The city is torn apart, and the Assembly can't seem to decide whether to support good Lord Harrowmont, or that power-crazed monster, Bhelen." 

Sometimes it's really, really obvious just which of the candidates someone supports. I quirk an eyebrow. "Such hate for Bhelen? What did he _do_ to earn that, anyway?" 

"Everyone knows that he killed his brother, Trian, and let Scregor take the blame," Nerav says. "And many question whether Endrin truly died of natural causes, or if Bhelen sped him on his journey to the ancestors." 

"That's horrible!" Alistair says. 

"I'd suspected that there was foul play at work when I heard about what happened with Scregor," I say. "I met his former second, Gorim, over in Denerim, who told me about it." 

"Oh! Gorim is still alive?" Nerav says. "I'm glad to hear that. He's a good man, who just got caught up on the wrong side of politics." 

"Politics can be a bitch sometimes," Tom says. 

"I'll be sure to get to the bottom of this all, however," I say. "The trouble with truth is that there's always more than one side to it, and _everyone_ is absolutely convinced that they have it. I'll take nothing for granted and make no assumptions, and let the truth bear out who is guilty of what." 

Nerav nods. "I am confident that the truth will support Lord Harrowmont." 

"What if Scregor is alive?" I ask. 

"I'm sure he can't be, after all this time," Nerav says. "But if he were, by the favor of the ancestors, then I'm sure House Helmi would support him." 

We move on. At the bottom of the stairs leading down to the commons from the Diamond Quarter, we come upon a dwarf girl, perhaps barely an adult, who waves her hands to us when she spots us. 

"Um, hello? You're from the surface, aren't you? Can I talk to you for a moment?" 

"Sure," I say. "Can I help you with something?" 

"I'm Dagna, daughter of Janar, of the Smith Caste. I don't suppose you've ever heard of something called 'The Circle'?" 

I quirk an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm a mage myself, as is Tom here. What do you want to know?" 

Dagna's eyes widen in awe. "Really? I've never met an actual mage before! Is it true that you can manipulate reality itself with just your mind?" 

I chuckle softly, put my map and wand away, and raise my hands, allowing electricity to play along my fingertips and jump from one hand to the other. "Just like so." 

"By the ancestors, that's incredible!" Dagna says. 

I lower my hands, and say, "What do you want to know about magic?" 

"Well, I kept sending letters to the Circle of Magi, but I've never gotten a response. I want to study magic myself!" 

"That's crazy," Alistair says. "Everyone knows dwarves can't do magic." 

"I don't want to actually cast spells," Dagna says. "I just want to learn about it." 

"If there _were_ a way for you to actually be able to use magic, would you be interested in taking it?" Tom asks. 

Dagna's eyes widen even further, to the point where I start to think that they're about to pop out of her head. "Is that even possible?" 

"It could be," Tom says with a shrug. 

"I never even considered it," Dagna says. "I mean, if I could, that would be absolutely amazing!" 

"I'll ask my friend at the tower and see what can be done," Tom says. "Here's another demonstration of magic for you." He draws out his wand and gives it a wave, and says, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " 

A silvery, translucent snake spirit emerges from the tip of the wand. I feel a sudden pang of regret upon seeing it. My poor, poor duck... 

"Take a message to Gellert," Tom tells the snake. "Gellert, I've got a dwarven girl who wants to study magic. In an academic fashion, although I'm sure she would be utterly thrilled if there were any way that she could actually cast spells herself. Could you take her request to the First Enchanter?" 

The snake vanishes, and Dagna stares in wonder at where the Patronus had been for several moments afterward. "That was incredible! That was, like, some sort of spirit or something?" 

I give a solemn nod. "Indeed." 

We spend a few minutes demonstrating minor magical feats to Dagna while waiting for a response. Soon enough, Gellert's phoenix Patronus appears before us. "Irving says it's fine by him. And I'll see if I might be able to come up with modification method that would work on a dwarf with the resources I have available. That would be an interesting exercise, I think. Tell her to bring lyrium, if she comes. I'm going to need it." 

"That's wonderful!" Dagna says. "I didn't expect you'd be able to get a message through so quickly! I've never heard of such a thing before. I'm going to go pack my bags at once and be gone before my father can tell me no!" 

"May the Maker guide your steps, Dagna," I say. "Or, what is it they say here? Ancestors watch over you?" 

"Thank you _so_ much!" Dagna says as she runs off. 

"Excitable, isn't she?" Alistair says. "What was that you were talking about? Dwarves being able to use magic? Modification?" 

"You probably don't want to know," Tom says. "Besides, it's complicated magical jargon." 

"Try me," Alistair says. 

"Fine," Tom says with a shrug. "We discovered a method that could be used to specially charge essence in a crystaline augmentation canister in order to alter the genetic information of a being at the cellular level, modifying a person's DNA in order to enhance their physical and mental aptitudes. Unfortunately, the process requires exotic materials that are difficult to impossible to obtain in Ferelden." 

Alistair stares at him. "I think I understood maybe half of that." 

"I'm impressed," Tom says. 

"Unfortunately, it wasn't the half that would tell me what in Andraste's name you're talking about." 

I lead us down past the commons toward a rougher area that looks like it might be the entrance to a mine or something. There's a row of guards blocking the path. 

"Is this the way to the Deep Roads?" I ask the one who looks to be the leader of this group of guards. 

"It is," the guard replies. "But I'm afraid that I can't allow anyone past this point without a deshyr's permission, and I haven't heard word of any new patrols leaving today." 

"We're Grey Wardens," I say. "And what's a deshyr?" 

From the look the guard gives me, this is a stupid question. "The deshyrs are the representatives of the noble houses who hold seats on the Assembly, topsider. Grey Warden or no, I'm afraid that you'll need to get permission to go out this way." 

I give a nod. "I see. Thank you for the information. We'll be back." 

"You have my sympathies, then," the dwarf says. 

We head back the other way, returning to the commons. We pass another dwarf, who is muttering something about lost nugs. 

"What in the Fade is a nug?" I ask the dwarf. 

"Delicious," the dwarf replies. "Oh, you mean what they look like? Well, they're about this long," he holds up his hands, "with long ears, and they make a squeaking sound. If you happen to come across any, is there any chance I could convince you to bring them to me? I'll pay you good silver for them." 

"You aren't seriously considering going nug-wrangling, are you?" Alistair asks me. 

"It will pay for your next armor upgrade," I reply. 

"Alright, fine," Alistair says. "Nug hunting it is." 

"Thank you, strangers," the dwarf says. "I only need one to turn my fortunes around." 

"Wouldn't two be more productive?" Tom says. 

"I'll take whatever I can get." 

A short ways away, we come upon a strange creature matching his description. "Hmm, is that a nug?" I zap it with a Stunning Spell and take it back to the nug wrangler. "Is this what you were looking for?" 

"Salroka, that's it! Here's some coin for your trouble. I'll take any others you find, too." 

I pocket the coins and move along. Further down the commons, I see a merchant stand, and go over to take a look at his wares. 

"Surfacers?" says the merchant. "Good, your gold is most welcome here. That might help calm people down a bit." 

"Aye, I'm in the market for goods, and information," I say. "What do you think of this succession business? Who do you support?" 

"I support Prince Bhelen, of course," the merchant says. "He might be the traditional choice, but he's in favor of Orzammar taking a new direction. Bhelen is a man of change and progress. Harrowmont would have us cling stubbornly to tradition even as we fester and wither because of it." 

"So you don't believe the rumors that Bhelen is a murderer, I take it?" I ask. "I have no opinion either way, of course. I'm just an outsider here, looking for information." 

"Others say Harrowmont killed the king, too," the merchant replies. "All else being equal, I'll go where there's more gold to be made." 

"Fair enough," I say. "I'd like this book, please." I pass over the coins, tuck my purchase into my bag, and head off. 

Across from the merchant stalls, there's door leading into what appears to be a tavern called Tapster's. That sounds like it would probably be a good place to dig up rumors. We head inside. 

"Nice place," Tom mutters. "Although I think drinking here might be an... adventure." 

A red-haired dwarven woman appears to be in charge of the bar, and I go up to her. "Good day to you, strangers, and welcome to Tapster's. I'm the hostess, Corra. You must be the Grey Wardens I heard about. Can I get you something?" 

"I'm looking to try some of the local brew, and to get a bit of information," I say. 

"Certainly," Corra says. "Three ales for you, then?" 

Padfoot barks, and I say, "Make that four." 

Corra gives the mabari hound an odd look, then just shrugs and serves us up three mugs of ale, and pours some into a bowl for the dog and sets it on the floor in front of him. 

"You must not be looking for anything official, or you'd be up at the Shaperate," Corra says. "But I can certainly give you the mole's eye view." 

Alistair looks dubiously at his mug of ale. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I," he comments, then takes a drink anyway. "Mmph. No offense, Corra, but your ale tastes like dirt." 

"That's because we put dirt in it," Corra says cheerfully. "I could get you some imported surface mead instead, if you'd prefer." 

"No, that's quite alright," Alistair says. "I'll just... drink my dirt." 

"What's a Shaperate?" I wonder, taking a gulp of my own ale. Hmm, I'd say Alistair's assessment of it is accurate. Although I've rarely been one to care what booze tastes like, so long as it's alcoholic. 

"It's up in the Diamond Quarter," Corra replies. "That's where the shapers -- you call them 'scholars' on the surface, I believe -- that's where they keep all the records and whatnot for Orzammar." 

"Ah, I see," I say. "It seems like everyone on the street's talking about the succession crisis. Even the ones who are trying to sell me something." 

"Things are certainly a bit of a mess around Orzammar lately, but it also means a lot of people are coming down here to try to forget about their problems for a little bit," Corra says. 

"Did Scregor really murder his brother?" I ask. 

Corra's face hardens. "He did. Convicted, sentenced, and done. I _liked_ Prince Trian, and then that traitorous kinslayer murdered him in cold blood..." 

"Hm," I say, nodding. "My condolences." 

Getting down to the truth of the matter will be difficult enough even without having to convince people of it. But, one way or another, I can still save Scregor even if I may not be able to exonerate him. I can always just conscript him and take him to the surface, after all. Orzammar need not even know that he's still alive, if it would prove too problematic. 

Corra wanders off to serve other patrons, and I go over to chat with a dwarven warrior, wincing a little at the sound of drunken dwarven singing coming from nearby. 

"I hear you're Grey Wardens, are you? Good folks, Wardens. Nobody else really knows what we face, down in the depths, even the ones who live here in Orzammar. They can live in peace and quiet to kill one another because people like you and me are keeping them safe from darkspawn." 

"How are things down here with the Blight?" I ask. 

"It's a bit quieter down in the Deep Roads, with so many darkspawn heading for the surface, but that doesn't mean it's empty or deserted." The soldier grunts. "It's positively crowded these days with dwarves, what with Bhelen and Harrowmont both sending out people to poke around the old thaigs." 

"What are they looking for?" I wonder. 

"Signs of the Paragon Branka." He snorts and shakes his head. "Two years gone, they're not going to find anything, and a lot of good people are going to die looking for her bones." 

"Why are they so eager to find her all of a sudden?" I ask. 

"She's a Paragon. I imagine that they think she can settle the succession crisis." 

"They certainly can't seem to solve it themselves," Tom comments. 

"Hoping for a Paragon to swoop in and solve all their problems," the soldier says. "I just go where I'm ordered to, and hope this mess gets solved soon." 

I finish my ale, and go to head back out again. Tom and Alistair notably do not bother to finish theirs, although Padfoot seems perfectly happy to lap up his bowl full. 

"Well, if we were looking for information, we certainly got some," Alistair says. "Now the question is what to make of it? Maker, and I thought human politics were messed up." 

Down past the tavern is a tunnel leading into a section of Orzammar that looks much poorer than the commons. I think I can smell the stink of the place wafting out. 

"Good day, Wardens," says a guard next to the tunnel. "You probably don't want to go down this way." 

"What's that way?" I ask. 

"That's Dust Town," the guard says. "Nothing but casteless filth live in that hole." 

"No, I think I do want to go this way," I say. 

"Suit yourself," the guard says with a shrug. "It's your funeral. Best watch your step so you don't get anything on your boots, or get your throats cut just so they can steal those boots." 

"I'd think they'd be too short to reach my throat," I comment lightly, heading past. 

Rispy's description does the place no justice. If anything, it seems even worse than how he described it. I have to wonder how anyone can live in such squalor. Beggars line the path, many of them coughing with illness as they hold out their hands for any coins that might come their way. 

I can't afford to feed every beggar in Orzammar, but I know well enough that what I would not miss would be a fortune to these poor people. I toss a few coppers to every beggar we pass, and send a little healing magic toward the ones that seem sick. 

"Look, boys!" says a thug with a branded face. "Rich surfacers wandered into Dust Town? Let's cut them and take their loot!" 

"I'd rethink that if I were you," I say, kicking one of the dwarves in the chest and sending him falling backward onto his ass. "We're Grey Wardens. Walk away, and be grateful that you still can." 

"I think not," says the leader of the band of thugs, swinging a rusty sword at me that I narrowly avoid. "With all that gear, we can live like kings!" 

I sigh. "Suit yourselves. Nobody will miss you. _Kill them._ " 

I've no patience for dealing with bandits and thugs, especially not _stupid_ ones. I drop into killing mode and bring swift death to the handful of casteless brutes that thought they were going to rob us. 

I clean off my sword and put it away, and gesture to the nearby beggars. "All yours." 

A little further on, we run across a dwarf who says, "Surfacers down here, huh? If you're looking to make a bit of coin, I might have an opportunity for you." 

"I'm listening," I say. 

"I must say, there's some laws that the kings up there on the surface have made that really make no sense in a practical sort of world. Like who gets to buy and sell lyrium." 

"Are you selling lyrium?" I ask eagerly. 

"Ah, I thought you might be interested in the sacred gift that the Stone has provided us." 

"He and I _are_ mages," Tom says. 

"Well, there's also a fellow named Godwin up at the Circle Tower who is looking for a stone's weight of lyrium. Now, I can sell this to you, and you can keep it, or if you like, go and sell it to Godwin, who you know to be in the market for it. And if you deliver his next order to me, I could pay you a finder's fee." 

"Fuck Godwin," I say. "We need that lyrium ourselves. How much?" 

"Sixty sovereigns." 

"Don't be ridiculous," Tom says. "That much lyrium isn't worth half that." 

"It looks to me like you don't have a lot of options," I say. "Forty, and that's being generous." 

"How do you even have forty sovereigns?" Alistair wonders. 

"Prostitution," I reply lightly. "The templars at the tower love a nice, tight mage ass." 

"I did _not_ need to hear that," Alistair says, making a face. "And if you had that much money, what do you need to be wrangling nugs for?" 

"Just because you _have_ money doesn't mean you should turn down the opportunity to get more," I say. 

The dwarf hands me a heavy box in exchange for my coins. "You might not want to take it out of the box unless you know what you're doing, but I'm guessing you do know what you're doing if you wanted it that badly." 

I drop the box into my bag of holding and continue on. Further on, I spot one beggar who does not appear to have a brand on her face. 

"Please, can you spare a few coins?" says the dwarven woman. "It's not for me. It's for my son. He's sick and hasn't had anything to eat today. Neither have I..." 

"Your son is sick? Let me see him," I say. "I'm not the best healer around, but I might be able to manage it, and if I can't, I've got a friend who no doubt can. Oh, and here." I pull out a hard roll from my bag and hand it over to her. 

"Thank you, stranger!" She nibbles on the bread as though it's a priceless treasure as she leads us off toward a hovel. "I am Zerlinda, formerly of the Miner Caste. But my family disowned me when I bore a casteless son. His father was eager for a daughter to get him into the Mining Caste, but when the child was born a boy, now he wants nothing to do with me." 

The baby boy lays in a makeshift crib in a filthy room, wheezing and coughing slightly as he sleeps fitfully. I'm not sure exactly how old he might be. I've never seen a dwarven baby before. I go up to examine him carefully, weaving a healing spell through him. It's an easily cured sickness, but could become very serious if not treated. 

"He seems better already," Zerlinda says, picking him up and cradling him in her arms. "Here, dear one, something for you to eat." She tries to feed him a bit of bread. 

"Hmm, this might be better for him than hard bread," I say, pulling out a jar of apple sauce and passing it over to her. 

"What is this?" she asks, taking it and opening it up. 

"Apple sauce," I say. "From the surface." 

"This would be worth a lot of money down here," Zerlinda says quietly. 

I chuckle softly. "Most likely. And it'll be good for him." 

As she carefully spoons some of the sauce for him, she asks, "What's it like on the surface? I always thought it was dangerous, but you're humans, and you've been kinder to me than anyone around here." 

"It can be," Alistair says. "But no more so than here or anywhere else, I would imagine." 

"Is it true that there's no caste up there?" Zerlinda asks. "That everyone is equal?" 

"There's no caste like there is down here," I say. "But equality? There's always going to be people who have more than others, and people who are born into noble families, or people who are born mages. Still... there is noplace like Dust Town on the surface, and no one who is treated like the casteless." 

"Thank you, humans," Zerlinda says. "Maybe I'll take my chances on the surface. It certainly can't be worse than this. My own family refuses to take me back unless... unless I abandon my little boy in the Deep Roads and pretend that I never had him. I can't do that." 

I pull out a handful of silver and pass it over to her. "Here, that'll help you along your way." 

We escort Zerlinda and her baby to the front gates of Orzammar to make sure there's no trouble with anymore thugs or anything, and then head back up toward the Grey Warden stronghold. I hand over a few more nugs to the dwarf who was looking for them along the way. 

"That was a very kind thing to do," Alistair says. "I'm glad we could help her out." 

"I wonder how the others have been doing," I say. 

One group is already back, and the other arrives shortly after, coming in to settle around the main room of the tent to debrief. I could swear that this tent has gotten bigger since our adventures began. Has Tom been poking at the charms on it? 

"Rispy, report," I say. 

Rispy sighs. "I don't know what to think of Bhelen. Rica says he really seems to care about her, but then there's this." He places two scrolls upon the table. "Bhelen's second, Vartag Gavorn, gave us these to try to prove that Harrowmont promised the same properties to two different houses in exchange for their support." 

"We took them to the Shaperate, however, and learned that they were forged," Zevran says. "Modified to make it look bad for Harrowmont. A clever scheme, and considerably less bloody than simply killing people until everyone agrees with you." 

"Of course, when I took this back to Vartag to question him about it, he told me that was how the game was played, and to show my loyalty for my sister," Rispy says, scowling. "I don't know what to do. I'm afraid he might do something to my sister if I try to oppose him." 

I give a nod. "We'll have to tread carefully. Wesley, report." 

"Our meeting with Harrowmont's faction was considerably less... interesting," Wesley says. "Harrowmont's man wished us to enter a competition that's being held tomorrow afternoon, and fight in Harrowmont's name in order to prove our loyalty to his cause. Also, he wants us to discover why two of Harrowmont's fighters dropped out." 

"They're big on proving loyalty, aren't they," Tom comments. 

"So it would appear," I say, scratching my chin. "We need to get out into the Deep Roads to find Scregor, however." I poke at Scregor's dot on my map. "He doesn't move much. Looks like he's found a relatively safe spot to hole up and goes out foraging for food occasionally. However, we need a deshyr's permission to enter the Deep Roads." 

"So what's the plan?" Rispy says, looking to me. I don't think I've ever seen him looking quite so lost and confused before. But he's putting a lot of trust in me to make these choices and still keep his family safe. I have a responsibility, and I won't let him down. 

I point to the two scrolls Rispy has. "I say we have a quiet chat with these two houses, first. Maybe one of them can get us a pass into the Deep Roads." 

"We aren't seriously going to lie to them, are we?" Aveline asks. 

I shake my head. "I have no intention of playing that way, regardless of how this Vartag Gavorn insists that the game is played. But they should be aware of what's going on." 

We split up again, with Rispy coming along with my group this time, with the second group heading down to Tapsters, where Lord Helmi is currently located. This results in me poring over my map and looking for someone with the last name Dace, however. 

"Aha!" I say, finding one who is out in the streets at the moment. "There's a Dace." 

We go up to her, and she gives a scowl at Rispy, but opts for ignoring him instead of saying anything. 

"Lady Dace?" I say. 

"That is I," she says. "Do you need something, Grey Wardens?" 

"House Dace is supporting Harrowmont in the election, I hear?" 

Lady Dace nods. "This is so." 

"I've heard that Harrowmont promised you some land in exchange for your support," I say. "And then, not only is Harrowmont buying your support, but Bhelen's lackeys are trying to make Harrowmont look bad by forging documents to make him look like a cheat." I sigh. 

Lady Dace scowls. "It would figure that Bhelen would try something like that. Thank you for your warning, Warden." 

"There's something I need to ask you," I say. "Are you authorized to give permission to go into the Deep Roads?" 

"I am," Lady Dace says. "Why do you need to go there?" 

"What's your thoughts on Scregor Aeducan?" I ask. 

"It's a sad case. Framed for murder and exiled into death." 

I give a nod. "What if I told you he's still alive?" 

Lady Dace looks surprised. "Are you certain of this?" 

"Absolutely." I pull out my map and show her Scregor's dot. "See? He's right there." 

"This... What is this?" Lady Dace says, staring at dots walking through the Diamond Quarter. 

"A magic map," I say. 

"If this is accurate, it looks like he might be located somewhere in or around the old Aeducan Thaig. My father is there at the moment, but it doesn't show any... dots for them. Does that mean his expedition is... dead?" 

I shake my head, and say reassuringly, "Not necessarily. The map's effectiveness is limited in range unless I'm familiar with a person and key it to them specifically." 

"Oh. You knew Scregor, then?" Lady Dace says. 

"In a manner of speaking," I say. "Will you help me to save him?" 

"Certainly. I'll write up a pass for you right away. I hope you can bring him home safely. I'll let Lord Harrowmont know what you've discovered. I'm sure he'll be ecstatic." 

She gets a pass for me and my group to enter the Deep Roads and hands it over to me. 

"Thank you," I say. "We'll go right away. The sooner he's out of that pit, the better." 


	24. Infinite Dwarf

I gather up the second team at Tapster's, and we all head for the Deep Roads entrance. 

"I would not care to drink anything in that place," Morrigan says. "The beverages there looked positively filthy." 

"They have dirt in them," Alistair comments. "And Lexen made me drink it anyway." 

"I didn't _make_ you drink anything," I say. "You could have refused, or ordered something else." 

"And if the drinks weren't bad enough, there was the drunken ranting of that one dwarf," Morrigan says. 

"Oghren, you mean?" Zevran says. "I thought his braided mustache was quite fetching, personally, and such a lovely shade of red." 

"Ugh," Morrigan says. "You are incorrigible." 

"You're back, Wardens," says the commander at the mines. "And there's more of you this time? Do you have permission to head out?" 

I nod, and show him the pass that Lady Dace had given to me. "We're heading for the old Aeducan Thaig." 

"Going to meet up with Lord Dace's patrol, I take it? Well, that's his daughter's seal, so I shan't stop you. Just be careful out there. But you're Grey Wardens, so I shouldn't have to tell you that." 

I give a nod to him, and we head along. "What was this Oghren fellow ranting about, anyway?" 

"So far as could be made out," Zevran says, "he was the husband of the Paragon Branka, who went into he Deep Roads two years ago and never returned. He seems to be somewhat disgruntled about the fact that no one has gone and found her yet." 

"I don't think 'disgruntled' was quite the word that I would have used," Morrigan says. 

"Perhaps, but other, more appropriate words should not be used in polite company," Zevran says. 

"And who might this 'polite company' be?" Morrigan wonders. "Certainly not Alistair." 

"I was refering to Wynne," Zevran says with a grin. 

"So this is the Deep Roads," Leliana says quietly from behind us, staring upward at the high ceilings held up by ancient stone pillars. "To think of how majestic this place might have been once, long ago, before the darkspawn..." 

"And I'm just going to have to assume that it's not going to collapse at any given moment, I suppose," Alistair says. 

"And, of course, Oghren seemed less than impressed with either of the candidates for the throne and their sudden interest in Branka now that they might be able to use a Paragon to secure their bid for power," Zevran goes on. 

" _I'm_ less than impressed with either candidate," I say. 

"I just want to keep my sister safe," Rispy says. "I don't care what we have to do or who we have to kill to do that." 

"Understand completely," Tom says quietly. 

"Tom, before we go any further, I want you to stun me, just in case," I say. "We're bringing Scregor back tonight, no matter what, and I don't want anything to screw with that." 

Tom stuns me and revives me again a moment later. "I hope this is all worth it." 

"Why do you do that before going into anything dangerous, anyway?" Alistair wonders. 

"Just a precaution," I reply. 

"How can stunning you be a precaution for anything?" Alistair says. 

"Do not worry your mind overly much about it," Morrigan says. "Tis mage business." 

"I have never heard of other mages doing this sort of thing," Wesley says. 

"It's a Grey Warden thing?" I offer. 

"Now you're just reaching," Alistair says. 

I snort softly. "Fine, you want an explanation? I have a... unique ability. I get... visions of the future when I'm unconscious. Generally, of dying. Stunning me gives me an opportunity to get these visions, and hence have a forewarning about anything bad that might happen. It doesn't always work, but..." 

Alistair's eyes widen. "The Tower of Ishal! When you had Hawke stun you... and you knew about the ogre at the top of the tower! That's how!" 

"Exactly!" I say. It's easier to describe it that way than trying to explain time travel to them. 

"You are a prophet?" Wesley says, wide-eyed. 

"Sort of?" I say, shrugging. "It's really a very limited ability, although it has proven useful at times." 

"Truly, the Maker himself must have sent you," Wesley says. 

"Indeed," Leliana agrees. 

I sigh. "I rather doubt that." 

"Your humility does you credit," Leliana says. 

"My humility had to be driven into me with an ice pick," I reply bitterly. 

I'd been feeling the presence of darkspawn like an itch ever since we came to Orzammar, but out here in the Deep Roads, it's almost claustrophobic, and not from being closed in. The darkspawn are all around. Not any close enough to be in immediate danger of attacking us or anything, just around, pressing at the edges of my senses and making their presence known. 

"Alright, we've been here for five minutes, and I already hate the Deep Roads," I mutter. 

"What, is it the musty smell like nothing has lived here in centuries and that something has probably died here recently?" Morrigan says. "Or the still air and unnerving presence of large quantities of stone above our heads? Perhaps the sweltering bubbling of molten lava entirely too close to our position?" 

I shake my head. "No. It's the darkspawn." 

"I don't sense any darkspawn," Alistair says. 

"They're here," I say. "Not nearby. But all around." 

Alistair scowls, and says quietly, "How bad is it getting?" 

"Dunno," I murmur. "I've been on Dreamless Sleep potions for most of the last month. But..." I sigh. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to manage that, either. I'm always a low-grade tired now, and it's only long training and discipline that's keeping me able to focus and function at all, I think." 

I don't like to think about just how much my thinking might be impaired sometimes. I'm not about to use that as an excuse for making mistakes, however. There are no excuses for my mistakes. But I have a duty, and I will not let them down. 

A cave-in blocks progress through the main passage, but a tunnel off to the side permits continuation. I head along into it, pulling out my map to start adding this area to the map and checking on Scregor's location again. He still hasn't moved. Perhaps he's asleep. 

"We're heading toward a small group of darkspawn," I say. 

"I sense them," Alistair says, nodding. 

I put the map safely away again and dispatch the half dozen darkspawn along with my group before moving on. There was one spell-casting emissary in the group who I left to the templars, but the rest of them were no real challenge. 

However, there are more darkspawn. There are always more darkspawn. The next group is larger, and one of the emissaries manages to hit me with a Glyph of Paralysis. I spend much of the fight unable to move. 

While poking around for loot, I come upon a bag of bloody limbs. "What in Andraste's name is this?" I mutter. 

"I have no idea," Alistair says. 

"Hmm," Tom says, examining it. "It looks like this was ritually cut..." 

I shrug and go to shove the limbs into my bag. 

"You're keeping that?" Alistair says, raising an eyebrow at me. 

"It might prove useful later somehow," I say. "Never know." 

"Have I mentioned lately that you're insane?" Rispy comments. 

"No, and you should probably do so more frequently," I reply with a smirk. 

The next group of darkspawn contains multiple emissaries, one of which hits me with a curse preventing my healing spells from working temporarily. Just long enough for one of its cohorts to gut me. 

* * *

I groan a little as I get up. What's the point in wearing armor if these things are just going to find any gap in it anyway, or failing that, to hack at it until they get through to me? 

"Why do you always do that, anyway?" Alistair wonders. 

I grunt, and repeat my bullshit about prophetic visions again. "And my sense of avoiding dying in the immediate future tells me that there are emissaries ahead. Wesley, Alistair, keep an eye out for them and deal with them as expediently as possible." 

We move on and hack our way through several groups of darkspawn again, and I pick up that bag of limbs that I have no idea what they might be for again. 

"Tom, can you stun me again?" I ask. 

"Feeling extra paranoid today?" Tom asks. 

"Fuck yes," I say. "This place makes my skin crawl." 

Tom nods, and stuns and revives me once more. 

And just in time, as down the next tunnel, we come upon a pack of something I _didn't_ sense. I wasn't expecting to run across enemies that weren't darkspawn, and I'm taken by surprise by the small reptilian creatures, especially as they don't look that threatening at a glance. However, there are a lot of them, and they're vicious. They wind up swarming over me and ripping my face off. 

* * *

"Ugh," I mutter. "Okay, there are some sort of bitey little reptiles in the next tunnel." 

"Deepstalkers," Rispy supplies helpfully. 

"If that's what they're called," I say. "We must be cautious." 

Prepared this time, the deepstalkers prove to be less of a challenge, although still vicious. We are able to dispatch them without taking any serious injuries that can't be readily healed, and continue on. 

By this point, we're close enough to Aeducan Thaig that the names of several other dwarves pop onto the map, one of which has the last name of Dace. Looks like that was the patrol Lady Dace mentioned. When we get there, however, they're beset upon by deepstalkers themselves. 

"Looks like they could use some help," I say. "Let's give them a hand." 

My group charges in and assists the handful of dwarves in beating back the reptilian creatures. The mages toss quick healing spells toward the dwarves who look most injured, and the warriors hack the deepstalkers apart. 

"You have my gratitude," Anwer Dace says. "That was a close one. I didn't expect to be seeing a group such as yours out here. What are you, Grey Wardens?" 

"That we are," I say. "We weren't out here to look for you specifically, but I'm glad we could help." 

"Grey Warden business, huh?" Anwer says. 

"Not precisely," I say. "We're looking for Scregor Aeducan." 

"Scregor?" Anwer says. "I doubt you'll find him here. He's been in the Deep Roads for over a month. If he's even still alive..." 

I give him a broad grin and pull out my map, waving my wand over it to add the surrounding area to it. "Looks like he's in... this building, over here." 

"By the ancestors, where did you get this map?" Anwer wonders. 

"We made it," Tom says. 

Anwer gestures to the warriors that are with him. "Let's see if we can get into that building. Let's bring Scregor home safely. This is wonderful news!" 

My group goes over to poke at the building as well, and I go and pound on the door. "He might be asleep. Or wounded and unconscious. I don't know. He hasn't moved in some hours." 

The door refuses to budge. At first I think that it might be locked, but a high-powered unlocking spell has no effect upon it either. I think it might be barricaded from the other side. 

"If he's safe enough in there that the darkspawn haven't been able to get in, we might not have much luck ourselves," Alistair says. 

"I'm not leaving without him," I say. 

"Stand back," Tom says, gesturing to us, and we step away from the door. Magic swirls around him, and the door creaks for a moment, and then the hinges pop one by one. The door flies out of the frame and crashes into the ground. 

"Figured as much," I say, looking inside at the piled rock and stone furniture blocking the doorway. "He's got himself barricaded in tight. Let's see if we can move this stuff out of the way without squishing him." 

While Tom, Rispy, and I are working at getting the doorway clear, Wynne and the others are tending to the dwarves and making sure that they're alright. They might have survived if we hadn't come along, but it's an open question whether they would have been able to make it back to Orzammar in their condition. 

"Move aside," Sten says, coming up into the doorway. He pushes at the blockage, and with his superior physical strength, is able to get it to move. 

I scramble inside the building. A dwarf wearing patchwork armor is laying on his back inside the room, and I come up to him. Underneath his scraggly blond beard, splotches of the blight sickness mark his face. 

"Fuck, that's not good," I mutter, shaking him to try to wake him. 

Anwer Dace steps in behind me, and says, "He's got the taint? Ancestors shelter him, we're too late..." 

I shake my head. "We might still be able to save him." 

"Ah, right, you can make him a Grey Warden, can't you?" Anwer says. "Make him immune to the taint?" 

I don't bother to answer. Scregor is stirring a bit, groaning. I conjure some water and manage to get him to drink some without choking on it. 

"What... who's there?" Scregor rasps, blinking up at us with milky eyes. 

"Grey Wardens, and Lord Dace," I reply. 

"Dace..." Scregor says, staring at the other dwarf and trying to focus on him. "Anwer, is that you?" 

"It's me, Scregor," Anwer says, putting a hand on Scregor's arm. "How do you feel?" 

"Awful," Scregor says. "How do I look?" 

"About the same," Anwer says. 

Scregor rumbles low in his throat. "It's bad, isn't it. I can feel it. In my blood. Did you come out here to find me? Sorry you came all this way. I'm not going anywhere like this." 

"These Grey Wardens here can help, Scregor," Anwer says. "They can still save you." 

"We'll need to get him back to Orzammar," I say. 

"Grey Wardens..." Scregor grunts. "I always wanted to be a Grey Warden. Never thought it might be like this. Don't suppose I have much choice now, though." 

"There are always choices," I say, and smirk. "Just in this case, your choices appear to be accepting my help, taking your chances with the blight sickness, or death." 

"So why did you come for me?" Scregor wonders, coughing a bit. "Did my name get cleared?" 

"No," Anwer says. "But it's going to be, if I have any say in it. You... well, I'll spare you the details until you're better. Right now, let's get you back to Orzammar. Let's put a full helmet on you so the guards don't see your face, and we can sneak you in as one of my warriors." 

Scregor nods, staggering to his feet with great effort and the help of Rispy and Anwer at each side. I help him get the helmet on, making sure the distinctive beard is tucked away. 

"Don't worry about trying to fight anything," I say. "We can handle it, and I'll try to lead us away from any larger groups of darkspawn." 

The way back to Orzammar is slow going with Scregor unable to walk very quickly. Eventually, Sten goes over and picks him up and carries him like a rag doll. 

"Put me down," Scregor says, struggling weakly. "I can still walk!" 

" _Parshaara_ ," Sten says. "We will move faster this way." 

"If I don't keep moving, I might pass out again," Scregor says. "And if I pass out, I might not wake up." 

" _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun_ ," Sten says. 

"What does that mean?" Scregor wonders. 

"Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun." 

Upon hearing this, I stagger and almost fall. Tom steadies me, and says, "Are you alright?" 

I nod, although my eyes are stinging suddenly. "Yeah, just..." I turn back toward the Qunari, and ask intently, "Sten... _What is the Qun_?" 

"It is not my role to explain it to you," Sten says. "I am no _tamassran_... teacher, you would say." 

"If the roof leaks and there's no carpenter available to fix it, do you just let yourself get dripped on?" I ask. 

Sten grunts. "Your face is wet." 

"Your blade would not stop me, but you could slay me with words," I reply. 

"And I want to know what's going on in Orzammar," Scregor says. "What's happening with Bhelen? How is my father? Has nobody exposed my brother's schemes yet? Do people really think I murdered Trian?" 

"Some do," Anwer says. "Some of us, like House Dace, and Helmi, and Harrowmont, for instance, still firmly believe in your innocence." 

"I was not half this lucid when I was under the blight sickness," Wesley mutters. 

"I'm a damned stubborn dwarf, and I'm not done with this world yet!" Scregor says. "And if Bhelen thinks his clever tricks are going to get the better of me, then he should think again!" 

Tom comes up to me and puts up a privacy spell, and says, "Lexen, I've a thought." 

"Oh?" 

"I've been having my doubts that you could have been very familiar with this dwarf's soul from meeting him briefly a hundred years ago," Tom says. 

"What are you suggesting?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. 

"I think he might be someone you know better than that, I mean," Tom says. 

I glance back at the armored dwarf being carried like a sack of potatoes, and turn to look at Tom dubiously. "But, who?" 

"That, I cannot be certain of," Tom says. "The personality may not be much of an indicator. We are all the products of our circumstances. Especially when we have echoes of the same soul, born into different bodies, on different worlds, in different situations. It's a wonder that there's any similarity at all, sometimes." 

"I suppose that would explain why the Elkandu use prophetic titles in order to uniquely identify each particular soul," I say. 

"What was Scregor's title?" Tom wonders. 

"I'm not sure," I say, thinking. "I know I've heard it before... What did Keolah call him that one time? Ah... Infinite Dragon, I believe it was." 

"Infinite Dragon?" Tom repeats. "Wasn't that what Luna called Draco Malfoy?" 

I frown. "Come to think, yes, it was." I stare at Scregor some more. "I'm finding it hard to believe that _he_ could be Draco's counterpart, though." 

"Why is it so hard to believe?" Tom says. 

"He's _nothing_ like Draco," I say. "Not that I know him very well, mind you. Perhaps similarities might show up still." I shrug. 

"Draco isn't a dwarven noble with two brothers, either," Tom says. "Completely different circumstances and expectations. Perhaps Draco would have been more like this, if he had had siblings and were a dwarf rather than a wizard." 

"This hurts my head," I say. 

"I think the darkspawn are probably doing that more than this discussion is," Tom says with a smirk. 

"Ugh, don't remind me," I say. 

"Besides, is it so hard to believe that there are others in this world besides the ones you happened to bring along?" Tom says. "Who knows what Gellert and I might have been like without outside influence? Thomas Hawke surely would not have become a Dark Lord. Or would he? What kind of life might he have led? Who might his friends have been? Would he have saved the world, or destroyed it?" 

"Perhaps we can find out sometime," I say with a faint flicker of a grin. 

We arrive back at the gates to Orzammar and head back through. 

"Ah, you found Lord Dace's patrol," the mine commander says, nodding to us. "Glad to see you made it back in one piece." 

"One of my men has the blight sickness," Anwer says to him, shaking his head. "We need to get him up to the Grey Warden stronghold." 

"You'd best keep those doors shut securely for a while, too," I tell them. "The ritual we're about to perform has a tendency to really rile up the darkspawn during a Blight." 

He nods. "I will do that." 

We hurry Scregor up to the Diamond Quarter. His lucidity has faded somewhat again, and he's not babbling delusionally. I hope he doesn't wind up saying anything incriminating. _Muffliato_ , I cast silently. Now at least if he does, nobody outside our group is going to hear it. 

"Bring him back here," Tom says, leading Sten back to a side room in the back of the Grey Warden stronghold. "There, set him down there." Sten follows the instructions stoically and rests Scregor on the floor. "Alright, everyone go but Lexen and Morrigan. We need to prepare for this, and we must not be disturbed for a while." 

Once we're alone, Tom puts up some spells to lock and seal the door, and prevent any sounds in here from leaving the room. 

"What do you require of me?" Morrigan asks, folding her arms across her chest impatiently. 

"We're going to be performing a ritual at the hour of midnight," Tom says. 

"Not the Ritual of Purification?" I ask. 

Tom shakes his head, starting to draw runes upon the floor. "Wynne would have to cast that, and we'd probably need to do it aboveground. I don't want to leave it that long, however. So we're going to do something else." 

"Blood magic?" I ask. 

"Yes," Tom says. 

"Wonderful," Morrigan says. "And what do you need me for, precisely?" 

"Additional power," Tom says. "You're the only other mage here that I can trust probably isn't going to go spare over the idea of using blood magic." 

"If I must," Morrigan says. 

"Hey, Morrigan," I say. "I saw some lovely things down in the market stalls in the commons that might interest you." 

"Attempting bribery in order to mollify me?" Morrigan says. 

"Why not?" I say with a grin. 

"Oh, very well," Morrigan says. "Let us get on with this." 

Once midnight is upon us, Tom begins the ritual. He pulls out a runed golden bowl and cuts his palm, letting some of his own blood run into it as he begins to chant in some long-forgotten tongue from another world. 

The archdemon's eyes are upon me. In my mind. She is watching me. Urthemiel seems to be wondering what I am doing. 

How did I know that the archdemon's name is Urthemiel? Shit. 

Tom passes the bowl to Morrigan and has her add her own blood to the mix, continuing to chant. How is this even going to work? 

There's pressure in my mind. My skin is crawling, like fire ants running up my arms and down my back. It's not bad yet, I tell myself. I dread what may be yet to come, however. 

"Now the dragon's blood," Tom says quietly, holding out the bowl and knife to me. 

I take the knife and draw it across my palm, allowing my fiery, bright red blood to pour out into the golden bowl. 

A sudden rushing in my head, like that of a thousand darkspawn bearing down upon me, a thousand thousand darkspawn. Dizzy, head spinning, I clench my eyes shut. All I can see are darkspawn. 

And there's Urthemiel. Urthemiel wants me. She's calling to me. A beautiful dragon song playing in my mind. How can I refuse this? How can I resist? 

"Lexen, are you alright?" Tom's voice comes as if from miles away. 

"Finish the ritual," I say through clenched teeth. "Just finish the ritual!" 

Tom starts chanting again, but the sound comes to me as though from underwater, twisted and distorted and echoing strangely. 

And then I am no longer aware of the world at all. Urthemiel's song fills my head, not merely wanting to force me to bend to her will, but painfully seductive. My body is on fire, my heartbeat thunders like drums in my ears, and my head swims and spins like a whirlpool. 

Urthemiel demands worship. I'm still fighting with all my will, but I fear that I'm fighting a losing battle. Especially when it's one that I increasingly don't want to fight. How can I even think of fighting when my very will to fight is draining from me like this? 


	25. Proving

I slowly wake from fitful dreams and roll myself out of bed. I immediately wish that I hadn't, as another bout of dizziness strikes me, and I very nearly lose whatever might be in my stomach from the last time I ate. 

"Good, you're awake," Tom says, coming over to me and putting his hands on my shoulders. "How are you feeling?" 

"Been better," I groan. "How long was I out?" 

"Ten hours," Tom says. 

"Good," I say, breathing a sigh of relief as I try to clear my head. "I was almost afraid I'd missed the Proving." 

Tom's lips quirk in a grin as he helps me to my feet. "If you had some sort of plan, you know, it might do well to share it with the others?" 

I snicker softly. "True. I wasn't really thinking about it. How's Scregor doing?" I rub my head. 

"Better than you, I think," Tom says. "He's still weak, but recovering." 

I stumble out to the main room of the tent. Scregor is sitting at the table eating slowly. Anwer Dace is there, as are some of my companions. 

"You should get some breakfast, Lexen," Tom says, guiding me over to the table and going to bring me a hearty meal. I suppose that's one advantage of being a Grey Warden. No matter how sick I feel, I'm always able to eat. Always hungry for more, but it's a tradeoff, I suppose. 

"You're looking better, Scregor," I say. "The signs of blight sickness have faded." 

Scregor grunts. "Just wish I felt better. I get dragged back here only to find out that my father has died and there's a succession crisis?" He sighs and shakes his head. "I just... didn't think he would go so soon... I wish I'd been able to be here." 

"I'm sorry," I say. "We got here as soon as we could." 

"It's hardly your fault," Scregor says, inclining his head toward me. "I am grateful for your assistance. I owe you my life." 

"Many of us still believe that you are innocent, Scregor," Anwer says. "But I'd like to hear it from your mouth. What really happened that day?" 

Scregor takes a deep breath. "Bhelen warned me that Trian was going to try to kill me. I refused to believe it. He tried to goad me into striking first. But Trian is-- was-- my brother. Even if he _were_ trying to kill me, I would never strike the first blow, not even for my own safety." He clutches the table, staring down at the half-eaten food on his plate. 

"No one who knew you would believe that of you, Scregor," Anwer says. 

Scregor gives a terse nod, and goes on, "When we got to Aeducan Thaig, a group of mercenaries tried to kill my team. Upon searching their bodies, I found an Aeducan signet ring. I believed that it might have belonged to Trian. I was still reluctant to face the thought that Trian was actually trying to kill me, however." 

"Did he, though?" Anwer asks. 

"He..." Scregor chokes for a moment, working up his face a bit. He seems to be working very hard to stay strong and not completely break down. "Trian was already dead when I got there," he rasps. "I was... I was stunned, shocked... I went up to his side, mourning, angry at whoever committed this deed, but it did not occur to me until too late that Bhelen had set me up." 

"I'm sorry for your losses," I say quietly. 

"They came while I was kneeling there, beside my brother's c-- corpse..." Scregor says. "Bhelen... Stone, Bhelen! Gorim was the only one of my team who stood by me. The others spoke brand-faced lies. I could hardly believe it. I will _kill_ them for this. But not Bhelen. Stone damn it, Bhelen... No matter what he's done, I'm not going to become the kinslayer he's painted me as, even if he deserves it." 

Rispy stares at Scregor as he finishes his story, and then says, "Brand-faced lies?" 

Scregor glances at him, and mutters, "No offense." 

Rispy grunts and lets it slide for the moment. He looks to me and asks, "So what's the plan, Lexen?" 

"We are going to enter the Proving in Scregor's name," I say. 

Scregor looks at me in surprise. "You have a lot of faith in someone you barely know." 

I quirk at grin at him. "We just met, and yet it seems like I've known you for years." 

"I could probably get Harrowmont's fighters to switch their support to Scregor as well," Anwer says. 

"That would make it even more obvious that new information has come to light and that Scregor is still alive," Tom points out. 

"How do you suppose Bhelen will react if we were to do that?" Rispy asks. 

"I don't know," Scregor replies. "I don't even know my own brother anymore. But if you're fighting in my name, I'm damned well going to fight, too." 

"You're hardly in any condition to fight," Tom says. 

"I'm not just going to sit on the sidelines and watch while perfect strangers stand up and fight for me," Scregor says. 

"If that is your choice, then I'm hardly one to stop you," I say. 

"You're still considered a convict and an exile, though," Anwer says. 

"I'd rather not lie about my identity," Scregor says. "That would defeat the point. I was never even given a chance for an Honor Proving to demonstrate my innocence or that those who accused me were lying." 

"We could just all fight anonymously, as Grey Wardens," I suggest. 

"It would sidestep the issue, but is there really a need for it?" Tom says. "They could not do anything to Rispy, either, for being a Grey Warden." 

"True," Scregor says. "As a Grey Warden, they can't touch me, theoretically." 

"The question is just whether you want it to be clear that you're alive and present just yet," I say. 

"I'm not going to hide," Scregor says. "I will prove to them my honor." 

"Very well," I say. "If that's what you want, then it shall be done." 

Tom nods thoughtfully, and says to me, "Although I question that _you_ should be fighting right now, either." He snorts softly. "But you're going to anyway." He chuckles. 

"Damn straight," I say. 

"You could hardly stand up, and you're going to fight," Tom says, shaking his head. "Alright then, let's get some potions into you to keep you going. But mind you, you're going to pay for this later when your body starts protesting at the way you're treating it." 

"Yeah, but the important thing is that it's later and not now," I say. 

We finish eating and gather up the group to head down to the Proving Grounds. 

"Should we see what happened with Harrowmont's fighters who dropped out, as well?" Wesley asks. 

I nod. "Do it. I suspect Bhelen's up to foul play." 

After sending some of the group off to look into that, I head up toward the Proving Master along with Tom, Alistair, Scregor, and Padfoot. With the full helmet and borrowed armor, no one gives Scregor a second glance. 

"Good day, Grey Wardens," the Proving Master says. "Welcome to the Proving Grounds. There's still some time before the fights start if you want to find seats. Or did you intend to enter?" 

I nod. "We're all going to enter." 

"All of you?" the Proving Master says. "How many, and under what names?" 

"Thirteen of us, including the mabari," I reply. "If you'll allow a dog to fight." I grin. 

Padfoot barks enthusiastically. 

The dwarf looks at the hound dubiously. "Well, I don't think there's any rule against it. Very well, I suppose I can allow it." 

I say, "We're fighting in the name of Scregor Aeducan." 

"Scregor?" the Proving Master repeats, staring at us in surprise. "But-- but his name was struck from the family and he was exiled..." 

"And may the ancestors show their favor for his worth and innocence," Scregor says. 

The Proving Master stares at the other dwarf for a long moment as if trying to peer under that helmet, before saying quietly, "Prince Scregor?" 

"Indeed," Scregor says. 

"This is... most unusual," the Proving Master says. "But I see no reason to deny your request. If you are all Grey Wardens, you are welcome in these halls and it is your right to enter the Proving." 

I get the list of names onto the roster. As the Proving Master is working on it, two other dwarves come in to re-enter the Proving in the name of Lord Harrowmont, followed by Rispy. It looks like my companions were successful. 

"Baizyl," Rispy is saying to one of them quietly. "In the future, if you don't want someone to find something out, don't write it down." 

"I'll need to rearrange the roster a bit to account for the sudden expansion..." the Proving Master murmurs, sifting through it. "Oh, this should be a most interesting Proving indeed." 

I'm paranoid. I just can't help but think that everything is going to go terribly, horribly wrong, or that Bhelen might hurt Rispy's sister or something. I'm most worried about the prospect of something going wrong and it being too late for me to do anything about it. 

But there's no help for it now. I sit down to watch the first few bouts as my companions line up to fight. 

"This shall be a Glory Proving held in the name of the late king Endrin Aeducan," the Proving Master announces. "May the ancestors show their favor to the best warriors among us today. Our first match is Seweryn, of the Warrior Caste, fighting for the royal Prince Bhelen. He is going up against Alistair, of the Grey Wardens, who is fighting in the name of Scregor Aeducan." 

There's a rumble in the crowd, alarm and confusion, positive and negative. No backing out now. Let's see where this goes. How much store do the people of Orzammar really put into these Provings? 

"For Prince Scregor!" Alistair cries as the fight begins. 

Fight after fight, my companions enter the arena to go up against the dwarves. I must say, if nothing else, I appear to have collected a competent and loyal band of warriors. They know nothing of dwarven politics, but are fighting on my word alone. But especially Rispy, whose family is on the line here. 

"For Scregor Aeducan!" calls Wesley as he charges into his match. 

"For that handsome dwarf, Scregor!" says Zevran. 

"Nehraa Scregor! Ataash Scregor!" Sten roars. 

"May the Maker smile upon Scregor!" Leliana calls. 

"For Scregor, although I am uncertain as to why I promised to do this," Morrigan says. 

Rispy goes into the arena and raises his sword, his helmet selected to clearly display the brand on his face, almost as though he's proud of it. "Hey, blighters, I'm back to win another Proving. For Scregor! And Rica!" 

One of the twin warriors that he's facing says, "They shouldn't let trash like you--" 

"--dishonor the ancestors by fighting in this arena!" says the other. 

What is it about twins and their tendency to finish one another's sentences? 

I'm called up next and head into the arena to fight one of the Silent Sisters. I really don't understand why anyone would voluntarily cut out their own tongue for any reason. I like talking entirely too much, and why would I want to give up one of my greatest weapons? 

I drained down some of Tom's potions before coming into the arena, and they've revitalized my body and given me the strength and energy to fight. Still, they haven't helped the feeling in my head, and I'm more than a little fuzzy. The sensation of darkspawn somewhere in the distance doesn't help, either. The archdemon's song always on the edge of my consciousness. 

I have to focus. I block out everything but what I'm doing right now, forget about the world aside from defeating the dwarven woman in front of me. Nothing else matters right now. "For the honor of Scregor Aeducan!" I cry out as the fight begins. 

Much as I might like to beat her with just my sword, I can't afford to be conserving my energy and holding too much back on my magic right now. I put up magical shields and send a controlled burst of lightning toward the dwarf. Dwarves might be resistant to some forms of magic, but direct elemental attacks generally seem to do just fine. I manage to win the fight, although it's a close one, and I'm wounded and exhausted at the end of it. 

Rispy and Sten come in to drag me out, and Tom pours some more potions down my throat. I'm aching and buzzing, but at least I can rest a bit now. 

Wynne is up next, and she says, "I have faith in Scregor's innocence!" Her fight is somewhat amusing to watch, as her opponent keeps attempting to harm her, only to have any wounds he inflicts healed immediately. He tires himself out and drives himself to frustration and making foolish mistakes, at which point Wynne finishes him. 

Then, after several more fights, Scregor himself comes in. The crowd roars as he displays his bare face before putting his helmet on. "For the Grey Wardens, and for Orzammar!" 

If I didn't know that Scregor isn't at his peak at the moment, I never would have guessed it. He's been starving, lost, alone, and sick, and yet here he is, fighting with passion and spirit, and probably running as much on pure will and adrenaline as anything else. He still manages to make his victory look easy. 

Next, another dwarf is called down to the arena, and the Proving Master announces his opponent, "He will be facing Padfoot, of the Grey Wardens, fighting in the name of Scregor Aeducan." 

Padfoot lopes into the ring and barks happily, then lowers his body and growls at the dwarf across from him. 

"I'm fighting a dog?" says the dwarven warrior. "Oh, by the ancestors, seriously?" 

As if annoyed at the lack of respect, Padfoot proceeds to wipe the floor with the dwarf. 

I watch the next several fights quietly, although I've stopped really paying attention. My head is buzzing, spinning, swimming. Not good. 

"Lexen," Tom says, shaking me. "Lexen, they're calling for you. Are you alright?" 

"Nngh," I murmur, forcing myself to my feet and almost falling over. 

"If you can't fight, you can always forfeit," Tom says. "The rest of us can carry this." 

"Give me the potions," I grate. 

"Alright," Tom says, pulling them out and helping me drink them down. "But if this kills you, you are _not_ fighting next time." 

Running more on potions than anything else, I make my way down to the arena. My vision is hazy, and I can't focus. I can barely make out the blobby form of the dwarf across from me, and can't make out the words of the Proving Master announcing our fight. 

I try to focus, staggering a little. I can't think. And she is there. In my mind. Whispering. Singing... 

"For..." Who am I fighting for, again? What am I fighting for? "For... Urthemiel..." It comes out as a croak before I even realize what I'm saying. I don't know if anyone even heard me. 

There's someone moving toward me aggressively. I fight on instinct, trying to move out of the way. Something heavy and metallic slams into me. I tumble, sprawling across the floor. I don't feel any pain, but my skin is crawling. 

I strike out blindly, throwing my sword and magic around blindly. But I'm brought down again. Barely conscious, I distantly hear the words of the Proving Master declaring my opponent's victory. No! I haven't lost yet, damn it! I can still fight! 

I can... still... fight... 

Darkness takes me. 

* * *

I wake slowly, blinking up at my room in the tent. Did I die? Damn it, we were so close, too. We were doing so well. 

"You really need to stop this," Tom says. "You're pushing yourself too hard." 

"What happened?" I murmur thickly. "Did I die?" 

Tom shakes his head. "No. Don't worry. Rispy won the tournament. He's strutting like a peacock about it, too." 

I relax a bit and breathe a sigh of relief, rubbing my head a bit. "I have a killer headache." 

"It very well _could_ kill you, yes," Tom says. "Lexen... I heard what you said. In the arena. I don't think many others heard, as you didn't say it very loudly, but I'm... concerned." 

"What I said?" I say. "What did I say?" 

"You said, 'For Urthemiel'," Tom says. "Who is Urthemiel?" 

"I did?" I mutter. "Shit." 

Tom scowls, and repeats, "Who is Urthemiel?" 

"The archdemon," I say softly. "That's not good." 

"Not good at all," Tom agrees. 

"How long was I out?" I ask. 

"Sixteen hours, this time," Tom says, going to bring me some food. "You should eat." 

I grunt softly and eat what's put before me without thinking about it. "I should listen to you more, probably, too." 

"That, too," Tom says. "Is it getting that bad?" 

"The ritual did a number on me," I say. "I don't think I could handle another one again anytime soon, if at all. Those always seem to grab the archdemon's direct and immediate attention." 

Tom gives a nod. "If you're inclined to listen to me for a change, I think you should remain here and rest for at least another day or two. Unless you had some bizarre plans that you still haven't told me about, the rest of us can handle things for the moment from here." 

I sigh. "I suppose I can't really argue." 

"You take too much onto yourself," Tom says. "Remember, you don't have to do everything personally. You don't have to do everything yourself. We can try to get Scregor on the throne, if that's what you were aiming for. And if that wasn't your objective, then I have _no_ idea what it is you are playing at." 

I grunt softly. "Nah, I wanted to get that drunk, Oghren, on the throne instead." 

"I am going to assume you are joking," Tom says with a smirk. "But in the future, you should be careful about saying things like that. I just might do it." 

"Would you really?" I say, chuckling. 

"Whatever strikes your fancy, my dear," Tom says, leaning over to kiss me softly on the forehead. "Eat, rest, and let me know anything you desire, and it shall be done." 

"Can you send in Sten to talk to me?" I ask. "I wanted to hear more about what he was babbling about on the way back from Aeducan Thaig." 

Tom nods. "As you wish." 

I finish up my food, and Tom takes the tray away. A few minutes later, the big Qunari comes into the room and looks down at me. I could swear that he's looking at me disapprovingly even now just for laying here. 

"Warden-Commander," Sten says. 

"Sten," I say. "Tell me about the Qun." 

"I cannot," Sten says. 

"It's not your role," I say with a smirk. 

"That is correct." 

"Neither can you teach me your language?" I say. 

"I am no teacher," Sten says. 

"I am, however, good at learning," I say. 

"That remains to be seen," Sten says. 

" _Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun_ ," I say. 

"You repeated that sufficiently well," Sten says. 

"I'm good with languages," I say. "But yours might is one of the few in this world that I don't know yet, along with elven, and I don't think _anyone_ really speaks that anymore." 

"It is not my role to teach you," Sten says. 

"And yet it is _my_ role to learn," I reply with a faint quirk of my lips. 

Sten looks at me appraisingly, as if seeing me in a new light. "You have taken up the title of Warden-Commander. You fight, you lead, you command armies. But you say you are a... scholar?" 

"There is only so much that one can learn by sitting around reading," I say. "I fight because my home is threatened. If there were no Blight, and I were able to, I would travel, I would go places to seek out knowledge and learn what I could." 

"I see," Sten says. 

"I had barely known that your people even existed," I say. "And I wish to learn more." 

"It is not a subject that can be summarized neatly," Sten says. 

I laugh softly. "I wasn't looking for a summary. I'm terrible at summaries, myself." I sigh. "I know I'm asking a lot. But your words reminded me of something... something I've lost." 

"You have been behaving somewhat differently since the incident on the road," Sten says. 

I give a nod. "I am the Stormseeker. You probably haven't heard me say that yet. Circumstances might push me into many roles, but _that_ is my title. I will always be the Stormseeker." 

"Stormseeker?" Sten says. "This... is not a word I am familiar with." 

"Seeker... always seeking knowledge, seeking understanding, seeking..." I say. "Storm... the calm in the eye of the storm, but around it, the raging tempest that sweeps away all in its path." 

"That seems a strange title," Sten says. 

"Perhaps," I say with a shrug. "But it is mine, and that is the one that was given to me." 

"I see," Sten says, nodding. 

I sigh heavily and close my eyes for a moment. "The rainbow after the storm. All strife shall pass. All troubles are fleeting. Life goes on." I grunt softly. "I think I like yours better. I just didn't expect to run across it. Not here, and not from you." 

Sten looks at me for a long moment, for once almost seeming to _not_ completely disapprove, and says, "I will tell you what I can." 

I think I had wrongly judged his philosophy at first by his attitude toward mages. Now, however, after seeing what I've seen in this world and experiencing what I have experienced, I cannot say that the Qunari's attitude toward mages is entirely unjustified. 

But now... I need this. For the sake of my own sanity and peace of mind. 

"And Sten?" I say quietly. "You may yet need to kill me at some point. If you even _think_ I might be possessed, just do it. Do not hesitate. A demon _cannot_ be allowed to have a hold of me even for a minute." 

"That is one of the most sensible things I have heard you say yet," Sten says. 


	26. A Duster's Homecoming

_Rispy comes to tell me another story._

Hey, Lexen. I suppose you're going to want to hear a bit about what happened while you were out? Let old Rispy fill you in on things, then. I'll tell you exactly what all sorts of fun you missed. 

You heard I won the Proving, I trust, didn't you? Yeah, that was awesome. I swear they were wanting to throw me out or try to arrest me again, but they couldn't. Being a Grey Warden is great. They kept wanting to willfully pretend that they didn't know who I was, and there I kept rubbing their faces in it. It was great. 

Anyway, Scregor and me went to see Lord Harrowmont. Needless to say, he seemed pretty damned surprised to see us. 

"I'm glad to see you are well, Scregor. And a Grey Warden, now, I hear?" Harrowmont said. 

Scregor nodded. "I am quite grateful to the Grey Wardens for saving my life." 

"That was quite some stunt you pulled at the Proving, as well," Harrowmont said. "Unfortunately, I do not believe that it has had the effect that you might have hoped for." 

"What has happened?" Scregor asked. 

"The Assembly is now split three ways," Harrowmont said. "They can no more agree on who should be king anymore than before. And they've become even more violent about it. Even some of my own supporters believe that you should be thrown out of the city immediately, or at least prohibited from making a claim for the throne. And others steadfastly insist upon your innocence. I fear this may have only made matters worse." 

"At least Scregor is alive," I said, shrugging. "That's something, right?" 

"Indeed," Harrowmont said, "and the ancestors can certainly be thanked for that. I will try to rally my supporters behind you, but there's only so much that can be done right now, especially as you are still considered a kinslayer and an exile." 

"You know I did not kill Trian," Scregor said. "Neither will I kill Bhelen, no matter what he does. I refuse to stain my hands with the blood of my brothers." 

"Your honor does you credit," Harrowmont says. "I will do what I can. For now, there are some things that you and your newfound allies can do yourselves to help your case. With your father's passing, the Carta has been causing no end of problems under the control of one Jarvia." 

"Jarvia?" I said, making a face. "And I thought killing Beraht might put them in their place for a while." 

"Beraht's death left a power vacuum, and Jarvia stepped in neatly to fill it," Harrowmont said. "They have been even more violent and bold as of late, even going so far as to shake down merchants in the commons." 

"Sounds like that bitch is just asking to get shivved," I said. 

"We'll take care of it," Scregor said. 

As we headed back to the Grey Warden headquarters to gather up the others, however, Vartag Gavorn stepped out and stopped me, giving me this really nasty look. 

"So, duster," Vartag said. "Looks like you don't really care about your precious sister after all, do you." 

I stopped dead in my tracks at that, and my blood ran cold. "Vartag," I growled. "If anyone dares to harm my sister, I _will_ skin them alive. Don't think that I won't." 

"Perhaps you might," Vartag said with a shrug. "But she'd still be dead." 

I grabbed a hold of his throat and pinned him against the wall. "How about I just pre-emptively kill you right here, right now?" 

"You wouldn't dare," Vartag hissed. 

"Do you want to bet your life on that?" I said. 

"Grey Warden or no, you wouldn't get five steps without being arrested if you did that," Vartag said. 

"That might be true," I said, glaring at him. "But you'd still be dead." 

"I think you've made your point, Rispy," Scregor said. "You can put the blighter down now." 

I glanced aside to Scregor and reluctantly lowered Vartag to the floor and released him. He rubbed his neck and glared right back at me. 

"And you, kinslayer," Vartag said, turning his attention to Scregor. "You should have never showed your face back in Orzammar again. Prince Bhelen will make sure that your lies are uncovered, and he will not fall to the sort of treachery that befell Prince Trian. You will not be allowed to kill another brother." 

Scregor growled and narrowed his eyes at Vartag. "Forget what I said, Rispy. You can do what you like with him." 

I grinned at Vartag. "And do you really think I _would_ be foolish enough to actually do anything to you in the middle of the Diamond Quarter? I'm not one of your idiot thugs that's been attacking us in the streets!" 

Vartag snorted in disgust. "I knew you wouldn't have the stones to dare touch me, brand." 

"There are more ways to kill someone than gutting them in the streets," I pointed out. "And more ways to make someone regret their actions than merely be killing them. I suggest you protect my family, with your life if need be. Because if I hear word that any harm whatsoever has befallen my sister, my mother, or my little nephew, even if you _weren't_ provably responsible... then I will make sure that _your_ family is ruined, and not a one of them will ever dare show their faces in Orzammar again, and after you have watched your family's fortunes crumble into the dust, then, only then, will I allow you to die." 

Vartag looked increasingly nervous, and finally said, "You-- You're bluffing. There's no way a damned duster like you could pull something like that off." 

I gave him a bitter grin. "Do you really want to stake your family's lives and futures on that bet?" 

Vartag didn't respond, and just scrambled back into the Assembly Hall like a spooked nug. 

Scregor laughed aloud once he'd gone, and said, "You know, duster, I think I'm starting to like you." 

I don't like to trust my family's safety to the goodwill of scum like Vartag, but there wasn't anything else I could do about it. We did try to get into the royal palace, but were turned away at the gates. Scregor just scowled at that, but didn't even bother saying anything. 

Back at headquarters, we met up with the others and told them the plan. "Clearing out the Carta will make it clear that Scregor can do the job of protecting the city and will a do a fair bit to make him look good in the eyes of the people," I told them. "Also, that bitch Jarvia just plain deserves to die." 

"What did she do to you, anyway?" Alistair wondered. 

"Not so much what she did herself, but who she was associated with," I explained. "She was sleeping with Beraht, and now she's cheerfully following in his footsteps. After the way Beraht used and abused me and the other dusters under him while I was around, I can't imagine she's any better. Actually, from the sounds of things, she's even worse." 

I headed out of headquarters along with everyone but Sten, who was still hanging out with you doing whatever it was he was doing. Telling you about the Qun? Sounds good to me. I'd much rather have been a Qunari than have been born in Dust Town. 

Along the way, we come upon a group of thugs who appear to be threatening a merchant. "Wesley, Aveline, Wynne, can you take care of that?" 

The rest of us continue on to Dust Town without delay. I don't know why I wanted to get down there and get this over with so quickly. Maybe I was just still nervous about Rica and itching to let out my frustration on stabbing something. 

Along the way, Leliana spotted a dwarf in Chantry robes, of all things, and said, "Oh, I haven't met many dwarves who believe in the Maker before." She proceeded to wander off to go talk to him, and I didn't bother calling her back. I just rolled my eyes a bit and walked on. I don't care much about religion, myself, whether it's the Maker or the dwarven ancestors or what. 

Once we were down in Dust Town, Zevran indicated a man and said quietly, "Say, you don't suppose that's the thief that that fellow in the Shaperate mentioned?" 

The man, bald with a large tattoo covering much of his face, notices our attention. "And who do you think you are? There's only one or maybe two of your lot that looks like they have any business in Dust Town." 

"Do you know anything about a book that was stolen from the Shaperate?" I asked. 

"What do you care, duster?" the man said. "You're too late, anyway. I don't have it anymore. Already passed it along to a buyer." 

"Zevran, Morrigan, would you deal with this?" I ask. "Best to not be storming the Carta headquarters with an army as it is." 

By that point, it was just down to me, Scregor, Alistair, Tom, and the dog. You might have fun leading a small army around, but I much prefer a smaller, more manageable team. I was surprised that Scregor was so readily accepting my lead, however. I think he was still not quite back to full speed, but didn't really want to admit it. 

Not far from my old house, I spotted a familiar face, a dwarf woman huddling next to a fire. She looked a lot more filthy and haggard since our days in the Carta together, however. "Nadezda!" I said, going up to her. 

"Well, if it isn't our very own home-grown Grey Warden," Nadezda replied, not getting up to greet me. "Life's certainly been treating you better than it has me. Got some coin to spare for an old friend?" 

"Nadezda, what happened to you?" I asked, crouching down next to her. 

"It wasn't long after you disappeared, and Jarvia took over the place," Nadezda said. "I got caught, and dared to make a stand. The blighters broke my knees, and made me kneel in dung till infection set in." 

"Fuck," I muttered. "Tom, can you take a look at this? Is there anything you can still do for her?" 

"Hmm," Tom said, squatting down beside her and examining her closely. He pulled a potion out of his bag and handed it to her, along with some bread, dried fruit and jerky. "Here, this should help a bit. Let me get some healing magic going here. This is an old wound, but I might still be able to do something about it." 

Nadezda drank down the potion and nibbled on the fruit as if it were the highest royal banquet. "I'm mighty grateful to you, salroka," Nadezda said. "Even if you can't help me, I'm thankful that I'll be able to go to sleep with a full stomach, at least." 

"There, that's the best I can do for now," Tom said. "We can have Wynne take a closer look at it later, but at least you'll be able to walk again. It'll be painful and you should still take it easy, though." 

Nadezda experimentally climbed to her feet, wincing a little, but still smiling. "Ah, salroka, you've done me a world of good, regardless." 

"Nadezda, we're about to make a hit on the Carta," I said. "We're going to take down Jarvia." 

"I wish you luck with that," Nadezda said. "Jarvia's got the place locked down tight. After what you pulled with Beraht, she got real paranoid. Now she's got these tokens made of fingerbones, marked with a symbol. You'll need one of those to get in." 

"Thanks for the information," I say. "Nadezda, you should get out of here before all this shit goes down. We left a friend of ours just outside the entrance to Dust Town, a red-haired human woman, talking to a dwarf man in surfacer robes. If she's still there, tell her I sent you, and ask her to take you back to our headquarters. You'll be safe there for now." 

Nadezda nodded, finishing up the bits of food we'd given her, and said, "Many thanks. I won't question my change of fortune. Give Jarvia what's coming to her, salroka." She heads off toward the entrance to Dust Town. 

"Now to just get one of these fingerbone tokens and find out where to use it," I muttered. 

I headed over toward my old house, out of curiosity. I doubted that Rica and my mother had left anything there when they moved into the royal palace, but it couldn't hurt to take a look, anyway. 

As it turned out, there was a handful of Carta thugs holed up in the house. "Well, look at this," one of them said. "The uppity duster's come home. Why don't we give him a warm welcome?" 

"Do you want to die _that_ badly?" I asked as we beat the shit out of them. 

"Whoa! By the ancestors! Mercy! Mercy!" said the sole survivor after we'd slaughtered his companions. "Where did you learn to fight like that?" 

"I've _always_ been able to fight like that," I told him. "Or did my reputation as the Carta's best fighter _and_ winning two Provings not give you the clue?" 

"One might say that attacking us was not the brightest move you could have made," Tom drawled. 

"Look, just take whatever we had on us and let me go, please!" 

I step up toward him and stand over him, pointing my blade at his throat. "Tell me where to find Jarvia. Do you have one of those fingerbone tokens?" 

"Yes! Yes, please, take it and let me go!" He pulls it out and quickly hands it to me, and I take the thing. 

"Where do I use this?" 

"The third door down on the block across from this. Just slip it through the slot there and you can get in." 

I gave him a nod. "Very well." I stepped back and put my sword away. "But if you're lying or this is a trap, I _will_ find you and make you regret it. Got it?" 

"Quite clearly! So you'll let me go?" He looks at me hopefully. 

"Go," I said. "And you're going to want to be as far away from here as you can get shortly." 

"Understood!" He ran out of there as quickly as he could. 

"Enjoying intimidating people?" Scregor said with a grin. 

"Oh, yes," I said, turning to head out to find the door the thug mentioned. 

After slipping the fingerbone through and gaining admittance, we came upon a group of thugs guarding the doorway. 

"What's the password?" 

You'll note that nobody we'd talked to mentioned that there was a password as well. No matter. Everyone in here was soon to be dead, or fleeing for their lives if they were smart. 

"This is my password," I said, grinning at him and holding up my sword. 

"A wise guy, huh? Get 'em, boys!" 

After dispatching the door guards without much fuss and starting down into the hideout, Scregor says to me, "Where _does_ a duster learn to fight like that, anyway? Did you get training on the surface?" 

I shook my head. "Nope. Like I told those other thugs, I've always been able to fight like that." 

"Just comes naturally?" Scregor chuckled. "You should have been born Warrior Caste. Maybe some of your ancestors were, before whatever they did to get them and their descendants branded." 

"No idea," I said with a shrug. "Does it matter? I was born to fight. People should be able to do what they're good at, regardless of happenstance of birth." 

"There was a time, not so very long ago, when I might have disagreed with you," Scregor said. "But then, not so very long ago, I wouldn't be caught dead even talking to you, never mind fighting beside you." 

"You're not just fighting beside him," Tom pointed out. "You're following him." He chuckled. "Two princes, following and taking orders from a low-born nobody? The irony is not lost on me." 

"Hey, I'm a bastard," Alistair said. 

"A bastard?" Scregor asked. 

"Right, you weren't yet here when that came out," Alistair said. "Well, my mother was a serving girl, and my father was King Maric." 

"Ah, I see, a noble hunter's kid, then," Scregor said, nodding. 

"What's a noble hunter?" Alistair said in confusion. "That makes it sound so... I don't know." 

"Noble hunters, lower caste women who try to get themselves stuffed up with a noble's kid," Scregor said. "And hope they're lucky enough that it's a boy. That's their ticket out of the slums, as their whole family gets moved up to the Diamond Quarter then." 

"Scregor, I don't think things work on the surface quite like they do down here," I told him. 

"No?" Scregor said. "I can't see what noble family would be crazy enough to refuse another child to their house." 

"Yeah, things... don't work like that on the surface," Alistair said. "And I don't exactly want to be king, either." 

Scregor grunted. "For all that I was the favorite, neither did I, really. I was always expecting Trian to become king... I'd rather fight, not play in politics. But I will not shirk at my duty, nor leave Orzammar to the hands of my scheming little brother." 

"If you didn't really want to be king, wouldn't Harrowmont have made a decent enough king instead, then?" Alistair asked. 

Scregor shrugged. "Maybe. But he's also old, and very... traditional. Me, I was pushing at changing things a bit. Letting surfacers retain their castes. Maybe even giving opportunities for casteless so that they didn't have to resort to being beggars and criminals." 

"Maybe even?" I repeated. 

"That was before this whole exile business," Scregor amended. "That was a pretty controversial opinion for a prince. Now, though?" He charged in to decapitate another thug. "I'm starting to think it's the only sane and reasonable opinion." 

Yeah, we were casually chatting while slaughtering our way through the Carta. None of them were exactly much of a match for us. There were some hired surfacer mercenaries. A couple elven mages that Alistair dealt with using his templar powers. Even a handful of kossith, of all things. I have no idea what they were even doing there. 

And then, deep within the hideout, in the very room where I killed Beraht, we came upon Jarvia, along with several of her lackeys. And standing at her side, there's Leske, standing there staring at me as if looking like he'd rather be taking a magma bath. 

"Well, well, look who's come crawling back," Jarvia said. "You've been stirring up quite a bit of trouble for yourself, haven't you. Your old buddy Leske here agrees. Don't you, Leske?" 

"Leske?" I said. "What are you doing here?" 

"You know what it's like, Rispy," Leske said. "When you ran off to the surface, I did what I had to do. Jarvia would have skinned me if I'd tried to defy her. You know I'm not half as good as you are." 

I narrowed my eyes at him. "As a friend of mine is always fond of saying... there are always choices. You've made yours. And this is mine." I gesture to my friends. "Kill them, but do not harm Leske." 

I charged in to engage Jarvia. She was one tough bitch, and she had several of the Carta's best assassins backing her up, and they fought dirty. They had traps set up around the room as well, making me wonder just how they managed to get around their own headquarters without setting them off. Maybe they realized we were coming? However, as good as they were, we're better, and Jarvia and her assassins went down. 

Tom tried to stun Leske or put him to sleep, but he couldn't get through the dwarven magic resistance. Finally, Alistair wound up hitting Leske over the head with his shield, knocking him out. 

"This is taking some liberties with 'don't harm him'," I commented. 

"He's still alive," Alistair said as Tom went over to heal Leske. "That's preferable to the alternative. I wouldn't complain." 

Leske groaned a little and rubbed his head as he came to. "By the Paragons," he muttered as he looked to the corpses of the other Carta members. "You weren't kidding, salroka." 

"Shouldn't have tried to fight me," I said. "You'd have less of a headache now if you'd just stayed out of it." 

"I really should know better than to underestimate you, shouldn't I," Leske said. "And you took her down just like you did Beraht. I guess I've got to thank you for undeserved mercy. I owe you my life twice over now." 

I laughed. "Maybe you'll get it into your thick skull by this point. Come on, let's get out of here." 

"So, Rispy, who're your new friends?" Leske asked as we headed out, now that Tom was finished healing us and looting the bodies. 

"Well, most importantly, there's Padfoot," I said, pointing to the dog with a grin. "Thomas Hawke, a mage. Alistair, templar and prince. And I believe you're familiar with the name Scregor Aeducan." 

Leske stared at me disbelievingly, then looked to the others and saw that they weren't contradicting me. "You've certainly gone up in the world, salroka." 

"I wish he wouldn't introduce me like that," Alistair muttered. 

We came out of the exit tunnel into the building that had been the Carta shop. However, by the looks of things, it's now under new ownership, as the merchant there was quite surprised to see us come out from the hidden door behind the shelves. He very nearly jumped straight out of his beard. 

"You... Where did you come from? There's a hole in my wall!" 

"I guess the Carta doesn't run this shop anymore," I said. 

"What? The Carta? I don't want any trouble with Jarvia!" 

"Relax, she's dead," I assured him. 

"As is everyone else down there," Scregor added. 

"So long as we're conveniently here," Tom said, bringing out his bag of holding, "can we do some business? I've got a bunch of stuff looted from a lot of Carta thugs who don't need it anymore that I'd like to sell." 

The merchant sighed, and said, "Alright, alright. Welcome to Janar Family Armory. Could some of you at least do me a favor and move the shelf back over the hole? I'll have to fix that later. I don't want anyone to think I had anything to do with the Carta." 

Tom starts pulling out stuff from his bag, not even bothering to try to hide the fact that it contains far more than a small pouch really should. "Janar? Did you happen to have a daughter named Dagna, by chance, who wanted to study magic?" 

"Ugh," Janar said. "Yes, and sadly now she's run off to the surface and forfeited her caste. Did _you_ encourage her? Do you have any idea what you've done? Now she'll never be able to work in Orzammar again, or get married here, or..." 

"Relax, my good merchant," Scregor said. "When I am king, I will make certain to push through reform to allow dwarves who choose to go to the surface to retain their ties to house and caste if they so wish." 

"When you are..." Janar said as Scregor took off his helmet. "My-- My Lord Aeducan! Forgive me, I did not realize it was you. You really intend to do that? If this is true, then you certainly have my full support." 

Tom finished up his business, and the rest of us moved the shelf back into place over the secret door. With that, we headed back out onto the commons and up toward the Diamond Quarter to the Grey Warden headquarters to regroup with the others. While we were down there, it appeared that the others had completed their own tasks. The book got returned to the Shaperate, the brother got authorization for his new Chantry, and Nadezda was sitting in the main room of the tent as Wynne worked on her. 

"How are you feeling, Nadezda?" I asked. 

"Much better," Nadezda said. "Thank you again. Maybe I'd better stop thanking you, since it feels like I'm thanking you every other word I say. But I really can't think you enough." 

I chuckled and put my hand on her shoulder. "Just you wait. Everything's going to change, soon. They won't spit on us and leave us in the dust forever. I'll make sure of that." 

"You really believe that?" Nadezda said. "You think that's possible? The way you say it, you almost make _me_ believe it's possible." 

Once we'd rested a bit and eaten, Scregor and me headed back to Harrowmont's estate to discuss where things might be going from here. Leske opted to take his chances heading back to Dust Town, although not before happily eating his fill of our food. 

"You've done very well," Harrowmont said. "But I fear that it will not be enough." 

"It's never enough," I commented. 

"Bhelen's playing dirty," Harrowmont said. "He's trying to force the issue, and is spreading around no amount of lies, blackmail, and bribery to get what he wants." 

Scregor sighed and put his face in his hands. "Oh, my brother, why do you do this..." 

"He wants power," I said. "That much is pretty clear. The real question is, how long has he been plotting this all, with none the wiser?" 

"Years, probably," Scregor said. "I certainly didn't see it coming. He was always the quiet one, so polite and diplomatic." 

"There is one thing that just might be able to secure the throne and keep it out of Bhelen's hands," Harrowmont said. "If the Paragon Branka were to return and endorse a candidate, the Assembly would be honor-bound to accede to her wishes." 

"And nugs might fly," I said. 

"Even if Branka is still alive, we'd have no idea where to even start looking for her," Scregor said. 

"I've had people looking into that, actually," Harrowmont said. "We've been able to trace the path of her expedition to Caridin's Cross. I can give you the maps to be able to find it, and from there you may be able to learn what she sought in the depths and track her down. Even if she's dead, finding remains to return to the Stone would do much in your favor in the eyes of the Assembly." 

"All I know is that she was off looking for 'ancient secrets'," Scregor said. "Something more concrete like that might help... actually, failing all else, we might just be able to find whatever she was looking for." 

I nodded. "This is all pretty far-fetched, but if there's ancient secrets to be found, my friends are sure to be interested. However, Lexen might just kill me if I tell him that we're dragging him into the Deep Roads for an extended expedition." 

Yeah, consider this my way of breaking it to you nicely. But do feel free to stay behind. I'm sure Tom would be perfectly happy if you decided to sit it out and rest instead. No? Didn't think so. You've always got to be in the middle of everything. 

Scregor chuckled. "To be honest, we'd probably be just as safe down in the Deep Roads as we are here, given Bhelen's propensity toward trying to kill me. At least you know what to expect, with darkspawn." 

With that, we headed back to headquarters to make preparations, do some last minute shopping for gathering provisions and some new equipment, and to make sure that Nadezda would be alright while we were gone. 

So, yeah. We're leaving in the morning. Best get some rest, or Tom will kill _me_ for keeping you up all night. 


	27. Into the Depths

Now that I'm rested and feeling stronger, I decide to take the opportunity to run this lyrium over to the Circle Tower. I let Tom know what I'm doing first, just in case something goes wrong in the process. 

There's still that lingering bit of tiredness hanging over my mind and body, but nothing more than usual. I've gotten used to it. I push through it and step out of the tent and into the back of the Grey Warden headquarters for a nice, quiet room to concentrate in. I focus upon the shores of Lake Calenhad, with the sight of the Circle Tower across the lake, water gently lapping against the shore, and activate my magic. 

The next moment, I'm being squeezed and hurtled across the Fade, demons clawing at my shields as I go. It's getting easier with practice, however, and in a moment I find myself standing across the lake from Kinloch Hold. 

I take the ferry across and head inside to look for Gellert. The place has been considerably cleaned up since I was last here. There are no longer bodies of templars and abominations strewn about the floor, although there are still a few places where it looks like the bloodstains just wouldn't cleanly come off. 

After some searching and asking around, I find Gellert up in the mage quarters, reading as usual. 

"Lexen!" Gellert says excitedly as I show up. "Good to see you. It's been entirely too quiet around here lately." 

"I thought you wanted a chance to read in peace," I say with a smirk. 

Gellert snorts softly. "Yeah, gotten that done and read some interesting things, but it's not much fun by myself. You and Tom are off having fun, Anders is still missing, Kirlin's playing healer in Redcliffe, I don't even know what Jowan might be doing..." 

"Well, I brought that lyrium you wanted," I say. 

Gellert shakes his head. "I don't need it anymore." 

"Don't tell me you solved the puzzle of how to let a dwarf do magic already," I say. 

"I don't think it'll be much different than doing so for a servile," Gellert says. "I was just finishing things up, and then I wanted to set out for Orzammar myself. It would be easier to Apparate, though." 

I chuckle. "Alright, alright. Apparating in this world is much more dangerous than it is back home, but I've figured out a way to manage it. I wouldn't want to test Side-Along Apparation with anyone that isn't immortal, though." 

"That bad, huh?" Gellert says. 

"I got killed the first time I tried it," I say. "Alright, if you don't want this lyrium, I'm going to take it over to Godwin, who's apparently doing lyrium smuggling and this was originally destined for anyway." I smirk. 

"He's hiding in the wardrobe in the next room over," Gellert says. 

"You didn't even look at the map," I say. 

"He's been hiding there ever since the abomination incident," Gellert says. "Although I think I might have spooked him a bit. I tried to hit on him, thinking he was just taking being 'in the closet' too literally..." 

"What about Albus?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

Gellert shrugs. "Albus is neither going to know nor care if I might flirt with a guy in another universe in an alternate timeline." 

I snicker softly, and go over into the next room and knock on the wardrobe. "Godwin? You in there?" 

A mage cautiously opens up the wardrobe door and peeks out. "Oh, good, you're not Gellert." 

"I've got a shipment of lyrium for you from Orzammar," I say, pulling out the box from my bag of holding. 

"Andraste's tits, don't say that so loudly!" Godwin says. 

"Relax, I have a privacy spell up," I say. 

"Oh, good," Godwin says. "Alright, I'll give you thirty sovereigns for the lyrium." 

"Don't be ridiculous," I say. "After all the trouble it took to get this here, I won't take less than a hundred." 

"What trouble?" Godwin wonders. 

"Orzammar's closed its gates to outsiders and is in the middle of a succession crisis," I say. "You're lucky to be getting this at all, never mind getting it in a relatively timely manner." 

"I guess I can expect the next shipment to be late, too," Godwin says. "Alright, I don't have a hundred sovereigns, but I can give you sixty-five and some... things I found around the tower during the recent crisis." 

"Okay," I say, handing the box over to him, and he counts out the coins and passes me over a nice-looking dagger and a ring. "Out of curiosity, what did you need all this lyrium for?" 

"Oh, you should know, you're a mage after all," Godwin says. "Mages always need lyrium. Typical mage stuff. Nothing out of the ordinary at all." 

"You really should work on lying more convincingly, just so you know," I say with a smirk. "I'm hardly going to judge you, but somebody else might be less forgiving." 

"Alright, alright," Godwin says. "It's... for the templars." 

"Oh," I say. "Well, that's boring. I was kind of hoping for some fantastic illegal experiments or something. Oh well. Enjoy." 

I head downstairs with Gellert, and we approach First Enchanter Irving, who has, for some reason, taken to standing around in the entry hall whenever I've seen him instead of actually being in his office working. I'm sure he actually does go and gets work done, and I just get the impression that he's done nothing but stand around here for a month only because whenever I've come here he's been standing here. 

"Ah, Lexen," Irving says. "Or should I call you Warden-Commander? Do you need something?" 

"Gellert wishes to come along and help with the Blight," I say. 

"And I'm going to bribe you with arcane knowledge you thought was impossible until you let me go," Gellert says. 

"I wasn't going to refuse," Irving says in some amusement. 

"Well, then, no arcane knowledge for you," Gellert says with a grin. "Just kidding." He passes over a book to Irving. "Have fun with this. I really don't care what you do with it." 

"What is this?" Irving wonders, opening up the book and glancing through it. 

Gellert winks at him. "The secret of life." With that, he turns and heads for the door, and I follow after him. 

As we step outside into the cool early morning air, Gellert takes a deep breath and smiles up at the pink and blue sky. 

"I can't believe you've voluntarily stayed locked in that tower for so long," I say. 

"I had work to do," Gellert says with a shrug. "But you're right. I was getting kind of sick of it. At least it had better accommodations and potential for entertainment than Nurmengard." 

We take the ferry back across the lake. If I had to, I'd conscript Gellert to get him out of that tower rather than make him stay even one more day longer than he wished to. 

"Alright," I say once we're on the other side and heading to a spot out of sight. "Try to shield yourself as best as possible as we go through, and hold on tight to me." I explain and demonstrate how the shielding I've been using to get through the Fade works. 

"Got it," Gellert says, nodding. "Let's do this." 

I put my arms around Gellert and hold him tight, and he puts his arms around my waist and clenches tightly enough that I almost can't breathe. I'm about to protest, but think better of it, and just focus on my destination. 

The demons of the Fade claw at us and try to rip Gellert away from me. I hold on tight, and concentrate, never losing sight of where we're going. And then, in an instant that is eternity, we pop out into the physical world again in the back of the Grey Warden headquarters in Orzammar. 

"Welcome back," Tom says. "I didn't expect you to bring my dear cousin with you. Hello, Gellert." 

"Cousin?" I say. 

"Oh, didn't I ever mention?" Tom says. "My mother's maiden name is Amell. So we're apparently cousins." 

I lead Gellert over into the tent where the others have gathered and are making ready to leave. 

Gellert peers about the room and says, "Alright, who _are_ all these people? Maker's balls, I've been out of it for too long, haven't I." 

"You met most of them during the Circle Tower incident," I comment. 

"You expect me to have been paying attention?" Gellert says. "What happened to the mouse, anyway?" 

I wince at the mention of that. "Gone. Don't ask. Please. I'll tell you later. Here, I'll give you some introductions, in case you weren't paying attention the last time." 

"Is this another Grey Warden?" Wesley asks as we approach. 

Gellert shakes his head. "Nope. I'm a Circle mage. Not an apostate! I have permission to be here, Ser Templar!" 

"I see," Wesley says, nodding. "Very well." 

"And I totally didn't bribe or blackmail anyone to get that permission, either," Gellert says. 

"You _didn't_ ," I say with a smirk. "He was going to send you anyway." I tell Wesley, "If I were you, I'd ignore most of the stuff he says. He's infamous for his mouth and lack of tact." 

"I shall take that under advisement," Wesley says. 

* * *

"Alright, let me get this straight," I say as my group heads toward the gates to the Deep Roads the next day. 

"Every time someone says, 'Let me get this straight', they're just going to repeat what was already told to them," Rispy points out. 

"That's because I have trouble believing it myself," I say. "Just to make sure I'm not, you know, _confused_ about something." 

"By all means, carry on, then," Rispy says with a smirk. 

"So, let me get this straight," I start over. "We're going into the Deep Roads." 

"Yes," Tom says. 

"To look for the Paragon Branka." 

"Yep," Rispy says. 

"Who has been missing for two years," I say. 

"That's right," Scregor says. 

"And _Oghren_ insisted on coming along with us?" I say. 

The red-haired dwarven warrior in question responds with a belch. 

"And we actually _agreed_ to this?" I finish. 

"I am uncertain as to who this 'we' actually was," Morrigan replies, looking askance at Oghren. 

"He seemed quite sincere in his desire to find his poor, lost wife," Leliana says. "The Maker smiles upon true love!" 

"I don't think your Maker is smiling on _anything_ where Oghren is concerned," Scregor says. 

"Except perhaps to be laughing at him," Rispy adds. 

"Bah, shut your mouth, duster," Oghren says. 

"Hey, I _won_ the last Proving," Rispy says. 

"Whelps," Oghren says, shaking his head. "They haven't been putting out any worthwhile warriors these days." 

"Okay, okay," I say. "Would someone care to explain exactly _why_ we need to go find the Paragon Branka, anyway?" 

Oghren gives me a glare. "Because she's my wife, and she's missing." 

"Okay," I say, striding toward the gates without another question. 

Tom snickers softly. "Well, I suppose that answer _would_ be good enough for you." 

Rispy says, "I told you, the Assembly's split three ways at the moment. We haven't done anything to solve the succession crisis. We've just added another variable to it, apparently." 

"And my little brother is being problematic," Scregor adds with a frown. 

"Also, there's the opportunity to delve into ancient, forgotten secrets out there," Tom says. 

I sigh. "Okay, this trip would be simplier if it were just helping a man find his wife. But the rest of it sounds like it would probably be a good idea, too." 

"We should look for Ruck while we're out here, too," Wynne says. "A woman named Filda was praying for her poor lost son, who went missing in the Deep Roads five years ago..." 

"Won't find him," Rispy says. 

"There's no way that he'll still be alive after five years alone in the Deep Roads," Scregor says. "I barely survived two months." 

"Back again?" says the commander at the mines. 

"We're heading out to look for Branka," Oghren tells him. 

"I don't know what you might find out there, but ancestors smile upon you." 

We step out into the Deep Roads again. There's a small group of darkspawn milling about just on the other side of the gates that we have to hack through to get into the place. At least the constant itch of nearby darkspawn dies down a small bit once they're dead, but there's still more of them, below, around, all over the place. 

Another group of darkspawn is ahead, eager to die I suppose. At least they don't seem to all be swarming at us at once. And at least fighting and killing darkspawn takes my mind off of the constant itching sensation in the back of my mind for a while. 

"Morrigan, your Cone of Cold spell is lovely and all," I say once this group of enemies has been dispatched. "But do stop hitting me with it." 

"Oh, very well," Morrigan says, completely unconcerned. 

I've copied the information on Harrowmont's maps onto my own, and reference them as we head off into the Deep Roads. Caridin's Cross should be... this way. 

"So, Oghren," Tom asks as we go. "Do you happen to know what sort of ancient secrets Branka was looking for?" 

"She wanted to find the Anvil of the Void," Oghren says. "The long-lost artifact that the golems were forged on." 

"I don't know much about golems, aside from the fact that sticking demons in them is a bad idea," I comment. 

"They defended Orzammar, and kept the peace, so that no dwarf need risk themselves in battle," Scregor says. "Sadly, most of them have now been lost or destroyed." 

We make our way through the Deep Roads, fighting small, wandering groups of darkspawn as we go. The further we get from Orzammar, the worse the sensation of the taint becomes. It started off as an itch in the back of my mind, a faint tugging at my soul. Now it has become an outright burning, pulling me on like a dog choking at its leash. I really, really hate this place. 

If I didn't have magic to track the time, I would have no idea how late it is by the time we reach the crossroads. How do the dwarves deal with it, never seeing the light of the sun? 

When we reach Caridin's Cross, a group of dwarves and an elf is waiting for us. "There they are," says one of them. "Bhelen will pay us well to make sure you 'disappear' into the Deep Roads!" 

We charge in and slaughter the group, not even bothering with the least bit of mercy toward a bunch of hired idiots. I've long since stopped feeling sorry for anyone stupid enough to try to kill me without being even halfway competent enough to succeed at that. 

"I'm afraid I'm feeling less and less sympathy and brotherly love toward Bhelen as of late," Scregor comments. 

"People trying to kill you generally has that sort of effect, yes," Gellert comments. "Ah, it's good to be out of the tower and able to actually use my magic to cause death and destruction again." 

It's getting late and we've been traveling for many hours, so we set up camp in Caridin's Cross after clearing any darkspawn out of the immediate vicinity. We run across a bloody head that matches the limbs I picked up earlier, and I shove it into my bag when most of my party isn't looking. 

I don't know how much rest I might manage to get here. I'm damned well going to need those Dreamless Sleep potions. 

Oghren is drunk again. Again? More like still. And babbling nonsensically about something involving nugs. After several minutes, I finally have enough of it, and point at him, and think _Silencio_. Nothing happens. Oghren is still perfectly audible. I scowl, and mutter, " _Silencio_ ," aloud this time. Still nothing. Damned dwarven magic resistance! 

"Suffering is a choice, and we can refuse it," Sten says quietly. 

I close my eyes for a moment and let out a heavy sigh, and murmur, "Thank you for your wisdom." 

Still, I continue to find myself twitching at Oghren's drunken rambling despite my best attempts to ignore it and put it out of my mind. 

"There are times that suffering is more difficult to refuse than others," Sten mutters irritably. 

The Dreamless Sleep potion doesn't seem to help at all tonight. Or maybe it is, and things are just so bad that it's doing all it can. But my sleep is far from dreamless. Perhaps it's because what I am experiencing are not so much dreams as visions now. But even Occlumency isn't keeping things out of my mind entirely. 

Suffering is a choice. I can refuse it. But how? 

Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. 

I fall asleep eventually, letting the tide of dark visions wash over me. 

* * *

"A mage using a sword is inefficient," Sten says once we've defeated another group of darkspawn. 

"I use a blade so that I can conserve mana against weaker enemies," I reply. "And so that I can be effective against enemies who are capable of draining my mana or disrupting my spells." 

"Perhaps," Sten says. 

I can't imagine coming in here when there isn't a Blight going on. This place is dangerous enough as it is, and becoming moreso the deeper we get. We've fought our way past countless genlocks and hurlocks, including a handful of spellcasting emissaries, but then as we're passing through one cave, I hear a strange shrieking sound from all around. 

I've found that, unfortunately, being able to sense darkspawn is less than useful in the Deep Roads. They're everywhere. Shrieking. My skin is crawling. Smoke clouds my vision, and warped humanoid creatures appear out of nowhere all around me. 

"Shrieks!" Alistair says. 

"Yes, they are," I agree, bringing lightning against them. "But what _are_ they?" 

"They're called shrieks," Alistair explains, hacking at one of them with his sword. 

"What, not 'shrieklocks'?" 

"Sharlocks, if you want to get technical," Alistair says. 

"Can we just kill them, and quit arguing about what they're called?" Scregor wonders, chopping off the leg of a shriek with his axe. 

The Deep Roads holds nastier things than shrieks, as well. Ogres, like the ones we encountered at the Tower of Ishal, roam the tunnels. I have a stronger force with me than I had at that point, but they are still no minor opponents. Between the shrieks and the ogres, I wind up dying several times. And once from being surprised by deepstalkers. Mustn't forget that darkspawn aren't the only danger down here. 

As we travel, I come across a bloody torso in a bag, and shove it in along with the others. 

"Planning on putting it together, whatever it was?" Tom asks in amusement. 

"I'm entirely too curious for my own good sometimes, I think," I say. 

I glance over my map. Although I can sense the darkspawn, the map helps to pinpoint where exactly they are. I have darkspawn marked in red now, especially since the method the map uses to detect them isn't quite the same as it uses to mark people. 

Gellert peers over my shoulder and says, "Why don't the darkspawn dots have names over them?" 

"Darkspawn don't have names, so far as I can tell," I say. "They don't have souls, either. Don't even bother trying to hit one with a Killing Curse." 

"Huh," Gellert says. "Weird. So they're basically just... animated flesh?" 

"So it would appear," Tom says. 

"Cast a Naming Charm at one of them if you want," I say. "They don't seem to have any sense of self-identity." 

After several hours of walking and fighting, we're approaching Ortan Thaig. "Branka came this way, I'm sure of it," Oghren says. "I can see her marks all over the place, from where she was checking composition of the rock in the walls." 

I give a nod. "We're on the right trail, then. Good to know. Let's find a defensible position and set up camp. We'll explore the thaig in the morning." 

In my room in my tent, I'm curling up to get some sleep, and Tom says to me, "Aren't you going to drink your potion?" 

"It's not helping anymore, or at least not down here," I say. "No sense in bothering." 

"The nightmares are worse down here?" 

"The darkspawn are _everywhere_ ," I say. "And the archdemon..." I shake my head. "I'm just going to see if I can meditate myself to sleep." 

"Very well," Tom says. "Let me know if you need anything. And if you decide you can't handle this trip, we can manage it on our own." 

"I'm not leaving," I say. "I need to be here." 

"Stubborn," Tom says fondly. "Not that I can blame you. You don't see me staying behind, either." 

* * *

The next morning, we set out to explore Ortan Thaig, and I'm still tired. I think if I am ever to complain about something again, I should just remember the Deep Roads and know that it can always be worse. Until, of course, I happen to encounter something worse than the Deep Roads. But I hope that it will be a very long time before I should experience such a thing. Come to think, it does still beat Azkaban, I think. Well, that's a bright spot in this dark place. Relatively speaking. 

We hardly get far from where we'd camped before being beset upon by very large spiders dropping out of the ceiling and swarming upon us, one of which even manages to poison me to death. 

I wake again in my tent and roll my eyes. Right, what was that I told myself about darkspawn not being the only danger in these tunnels? While eating breakfast again, I comment, "We'll need to be careful up ahead. There's giant spiders crawling all over the place." 

We make it past the first tunnel full of spiders this time, and then in the cavern beyond it, we encounter the sight of darkspawn fighting spiders. As there are several ogres in the lot, I hold back a bit and watch them for a moment. 

"Let's see who wins and then clear out the remainder," I say. "No sense taking unnecessary risks by getting into the middle of this. The spiders certainly wouldn't appreciate our help." 

The darkspawn wind up winning eventually, but there are far fewer of them than there were to start off with, and they're wounded. We finish them off readily. 

Further on, as we're starting to get into the thaig proper, we encounter a number of translucent shapes of dwarves, assisted by a large stone golem. They charge in to attack us. 

"What is this?" I wonder as I fight back. "Dwarven ghosts?" 

"Do dwarves even leave ghosts?" Scregor wonders, swinging his axe. 

"Certainly looks like it to me," Rispy says. "And I'm guessing they're not happy." 

"Awfully solid ghosts," Oghren says. "Bah! Let's just kill them! Or re-kill them. Whichever." 

Thankfully, ghosts or no, they vanish when they've been hit enough times. The golem, on the other hand, would probably have been a much tougher fight if it weren't badly damaged already, worn down by long years of being left in this place to fend for itself. 

The buildings in this old dwarven city are crumbling, falling apart, unsurprisingly. Strings of spiderwebs span between walls and pillars and across tunnels. 

A name appears on my map, a dot ahead of us from someone not in our group. "Ruck?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"There's someone else down here?" Oghren says. "Crazy blighters." 

"Oh, did you find Ruck?" Wynne says. "Filda will be so pleased!" 

"Who?" I say. 

I approach the spot where Ruck's dot is located and catch sight of the filthy dwarf, scavenging at darkspawn corpses. No, wait, he appears to be _eating_. 

"Maker's breath, is he eating darkspawn flesh?" I say, making a face. 

"That can't be healthy," Alistair says. 

When Ruck sees us, he screams and runs off into a nearby tunnel. I frown and turn to head after him. 

"He's a sodding scavenger," Oghren says. "Mind's as good as gone by this point." 

We find Ruck in a smaller cave at the end of the tunnel. It's strewn with random items, baubles and trinkets, scavenged goods of all sorts, most of them probably worthless but shiny. 

"This is my place!" Ruck says. "You not take it! I claimed it!" 

"Huh, it looks like Branka might have camped here once," Oghren says. 

"Mine!" Ruck insists. "Mine now!" 

"We're not here to steal anything," I say. "Although if there's anything valuable here, we might trade you for it. Shinies for shinies?" 

"You not steal Ruck's pretty rocks? Trade? That..." He looks thoughtful for a moment. "Ruck not mind that." 

"You poor thing," Wynne says. "You are Filda's son, are you not? She's been so worried about you." 

"No, no, no, no, no!" Ruck says, flailing about madly. "No good memories for Ruck. No gentle mother's arms, no hearth and warm bread, no, no, no!" 

"She asked us to come and look for you," Wynne says. "She misses you very much." 

"No!" Ruck exclaims. "No, she doesn't know what Ruck did. I was angry. So very, very angry. And I... Ruck killed someone. Dead, dead, dead. Ruck not want mother to find out. So I ran. Came here. Hid. Very far away from anywhere else. No one comes here much but crawlers and the dark ones. When I see dwarves come, I run and hide. Hide away in the shadows and the darkness so they won't ever find me." 

"So you killed someone, and exiled yourself to avoid exile?" Scregor says. "At least, I suppose, this way your mother didn't have to find out about it." 

"You've survived by eating darkspawn flesh?" Rispy says. "That's disgusting." 

"Yes, yes..." Ruck says. "You takes in the darkness, makes it a part of you, and the dark ones ignore you. They think you're one of them. Ruck not miss the light so much, not anymore." He looks to me intently. "You know, don't you. I can sense it in you. I can feel the darkness inside of you." 

I let out a heavy sigh and give a short nod. "Yes." 

"You... You've heard the dark master calling, too? You've heard his song? I wanted to go, too. I wanted to gaze upon his beauty..." 

"Her," I say softly. "Her name is Urthemiel." 

"Ur-- Urthemiel," Ruck says, licking his lips as if tasting the word. "Urthemiel. A pretty name for a pretty dragon. She... She was calling them all, the dark ones, singing to them to come to the south, far away, and they left, so many of them gone. The crawlers are hungry now, without so much to eat." 

"Ruck, you should go back," Wynne says. "Your mother would still be glad to see you, no matter what has happened. She will forgive you, I am certain." 

"No, no, no, no, no!" Ruck says, burying his face in his arms. "She must not see this! Don't let her see this! Let her remember the little boy with bright eyes! Let her forget about Ruck. Tell her Ruck is dead. His bones lie in the crawlers' webs, and she should never look for him again!" 

"It doesn't have to be like this, you know," I say softly. "You can go back. We can cure you. We could even make you a Grey Warden, if you wanted. We could protect you." 

I'm terrified of the prospect of curing someone else. I don't know if I could survive the process myself. The last one was horrible. But perhaps it was because we used the dark version with blood magic rather than the light one, the Ritual of Purification. Still, I feel obligated to offer it nonetheless. If he so chooses, I will not refuse him that, no matter the risks to myself. 

"Ruck not deserve protection. No mother, no home, no future, no hope... Ruck have darkness and shinies and quiet." 

"Deserve?" I repeat. "What does deserving have anything to do with it?" 

"Far worse people than you are living in palaces right now," Scregor says. "Like, for instance, my little brother." 

Ruck is shaking his head vehemently, however. "No, no, no, no... Ruck is scared. Ruck is a coward. Ruck not even brave enough to go see beautiful dragon when she sang to him..." 

"Bah, he's too sodding far gone to help now," Oghren says. "You might be able to cure the blight sickness, but it won't bring his mind back." 

"He has a point," Tom says, looking at me with some concern. I don't need to be telepathic to know what he's thinking. He's worried that I might wind up becoming like Ruck. 

I sigh. "I'm sorry, Ruck. But if that is your choice, then so be it. We will tell your mother that you are dead." 

"You can't save everyone," Tom says gently, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You can't take everyone's regrets upon your shoulders." 

"Why can't I?" I reply bitterly, looking away and sitting down heavily near Ruck's fire, staring into the pile of junk that he has scavenged. 

"Because you can barely manage to carry your own burdens, never mind anyone else's," Tom says. 

"Ugh," Gellert says. "I've _definitely_ been in the tower for too long. How long has he been angsting like this?" 

"Entirely too long," Rispy says. 

"Lexen!" Gellert says, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me. "Knock it off with the fucking angsting already! Do I need to kick your arse?" 

I smirk faintly and look up at him. "Not helping." 

"Sorry, I'm out of practice," Gellert says. "Look, if you _really_ want to crawl away and hide in a dark hole for eternity, you are perfectly free to do so, but you're damned well not dragging me down with you. _I'm_ going out there to look for ancient secrets, lost anvils, missing Paragons, and whatever else. You're welcome to join me if you like! That's what you came out here for, isn't it? To find arcane knowledge?" 

I twitch a little at that. "Yeah..." 

Oghren grunts, and says, "Ruck! You didn't happen to see anything belonging to Branka in your scavenging, did you? Any journals or papers or anything she might have left behind?" 

"The crawlers took things," Ruck says. "Papers and shinies and things. Ruck not know what they want with it. They takes things back to their nest, with all the eggs and webs." 

"Sounds like we've got some spiders to kill," Oghren says. "Who's with me?" He looks to me pointedly. 

I climb to my feet. "Sorry about that. I just hate not being able to save someone." 

"Well, get a move on, then," Oghren says. "We might still be able to save my wife." 


	28. Mastery of the Self

Before heading out from Ruck's camp, I have Tom stun me again. This seems as good a place as any to reset to. 

A ways away from Ruck's cave, we come upon some sort of pedestal. An altar? There are markings upon it, and for some reason I seem to know what they mean. This place is a node, a site of power, much like the one Kinloch Hold is built on. It's a heart of the Fade, and that body that was cut asunder could be restored here, I believe, if the inscription is any indication. 

I start pulling limbs out of my bag and laying them on the altar. 

"So, uh, mind telling me what exactly you're doing here?" Gellert says. "And whether you require any assistance in whatever bizarre dark ritual you're about to perform?" 

"I'm putting this thing back together," I say. 

"By the Stone, _why_?" Rispy wonders. 

"Dunno," I admit. "Because it's there?" 

"Sounds like as good a reason as any," Tom says lightly. 

Once I'm done, a pride demon stands before me, chuckling in a deep rumble. I hear my party members reading weapons and spells behind me. 

"So, mortal, you have brought me together again," the demon says. "Do you seek a reward for returning me to this realm?" He glances back at my companions. "Or vengeance against me?" 

"It's a demon," Sten is saying quietly behind me. "Kill it." 

"Wait for Lexen's word," Leliana says. "I'm sure he has some plan." 

No, I don't have a plan. I'm a little dizzy and my mind feels thick and sluggish. I've been having trouble thinking ever since we stepped into the Deep Roads, and that has only been getting steadily worse. I honestly have no idea why I just summoned a pride demon. A pride demon who is still waiting with some amusement to see what I intend to do. 

"I don't really care to make a deal with another demon," I comment quietly. 

"Another?" the pride demon says. 

"Yeah, the _last_ pride demon I made a deal with didn't work out very well," I say, making a face. 

"You forgot to put up a privacy spell, Lexen," Tom comments. "Not to worry, though. I took the liberty of casting it for you." 

"So, did this other pride demon go back on a deal?" the demon asks. 

"No, not exactly," I say. "I just made some very foolish choices and regretted it. He coaxed me into letting him possess me... and it ended badly." 

"What are they saying?" Alistair murmurs behind me. 

"You have no fear of that from me," the pride demon says. "I have no interest in possessing you. I already exist bodily in this realm. You have already done all that I might have wished of you." 

I don't know why I'm even hesitating. I just need to gesture and this demon will be dead, slain by my waiting companions. But, it's easy to kill something that is attacking me. Less so when something is speaking to me. 

"You have already granted me my freedom," the demon goes on. "Do you wish a reward for that, or would you rather slay and imprison me again?" 

That... is why I hesitate. Doesn't freedom for all beings include _all_ beings, whatever sort of entity they might be? 

" _Parshaara_ ," Sten says, stepping close to me with his sword in hand. 

Do I even know what is right or wrong anymore. Do I even know what I still believe? 

There is nothing to struggle against? I struggle against myself, first and foremost, I think. All else is merely blades cutting at me from my mad flailing. 

I raise my hand and cancel the spell with a wave, and command, "Kill." 

My companions don't need to be told twice. They were ready for this. However, the pride demon is too close, more than a little annoyed... and not unprepared, either. Enormous claws strike my chest and cut through my armor as though it's tin foil. 

* * *

I wake in Ruck's cave. That could have gone better. What in the Void was I thinking? 

Without a word, I get to my feet and stalk toward the altar again, and start pulling out the bodyparts. Now, I am _angry_ , and that gives me focus. More angry at myself than anything else, but I'm perfectly capable of directing that into sweet death. 

"This is going to summon a demon," I say. "We need to destroy it when it appears." 

I die enough just from fighting through hordes of darkspawn without being killed by my own foolishness. Not that this is any less foolish. 

The pride demon returns, and we attack it as a group before it can even say a word. And yet, a pride demon is still not a creature to be taken on lightly. Massive claws grab me around the waist, and then throw me like a ball through the air. 

I go hurtling head over heels, and then land with a splash in a river flowing in a gorge not far from the altar site. I land feet-first in the water. But I'm still wearing armor, and this stuff isn't made for bathing in. I sink like a stone, frigid water rushing around me, bubbles trailing from my mouth. 

I try to focus, move my fingers in a gesture, and think the words of an incantation. After a couple of tries, I manage to get off a Bubble-Head Charm, and I can breathe again. 

On second thought, given my situation, perhaps drowning would have been preferable. I know a couple spells that could get me out of this gorge, but I'd need to use a wand to cast them. And I'm sure I have a rope somewhere in this bag, too... damn it. And my friends are up there fighting that demon without me. I'm sure they'll be fine, but still. 

I fumble with my bag of holding and pull out my wand. It very nearly slips out of my fingers in the current. Damn it, I don't want to lose my wand, not here, not now. Sure, I don't strictly need it for most things, and I have extras for the things I do, but it's _my_ wand. It's like a part of me. I should probably use it _more_ , since my spells are so much more effective with it, but I'm paranoid about losing or breaking it. 

Sten is right, I think. I've been being foolish. I've been trying to be a warrior, when I'm a mage. It _is_ inefficient, and ineffectual a lot of the time. Like now. I let out a carefully aimed Energy Stream Curse and send myself flying up out of the water and onto the ledge at the bank. 

My companions are still in a pitched battle against the powerful demon. Wynne is glowing blue trying to keep up with the healing, and while the demon is somewhat injured, it shows no signs of slowing down. Three silvery Patroni guard the group and peck at the demon. 

Flicking my wand with long-practiced, although somewhat rusty skill, I let off a string of curses toward the demon's towering form, aiming high to make sure not to hit any of my friends by mistake. 

The pride demon turns its attention toward me with a roar, and hurls a large rock toward me. I barely manage to move out of the way, and it wings my leg as it crashes into the ground, rolls off the ledge and into the river. This armor is more of a hindrance than any sort of protection in this sort of combat. It might help against purely physical blows, but it slows down my reflexes. 

I keep hammering the demon with curses. It's definitely feeling it by this point, seeping ichor from many cuts. As I get used to fighting like this again, I fall back into combat thinking with the automatic, long-honed skills. Between all of our attacks, the demon finally goes down. 

"Status report," I say. "Is anyone injured? Wynne, do you need any lyrium potions?" 

"I think I'm good for now," Wynne says. "Zevran took the worst of it." She crouches down to heal the elven assassin. 

"Mmm," Zevran murmurs. "Waking up with a headache to see Wynne's ample bosom in my face..." 

"I'm afraid the incident wasn't as fun as you think it was," Tom says with a smirk. 

"What a pity," Zevran says. 

My sword got dropped in the river. I look over the ledge and wave my wand, and say, " _Accio_ sword." The blade comes obediently flying up out of the water. I don't even try to catch it, however, and it clatters to the ground beside me. I snatch it up and put it into my bag. 

"There is another useful spell that you shall have to teach me," Morrigan says. 

I look down at the heavy metal armor covering my body. As useful as a turtle's shell, but I think I'd rather be a frog than a turtle. I start stripping off my armor to put it away into my bag. 

"What are you doing?" Tom wonders. 

"I'm going to stop being an idiot," I reply. 

"Stripping is intelligent?" Zevran says, looking at me cross-eyed as Wynne continues healing him. 

"Sten is right," I mutter. "I'm a damned mage. I'm going to stop pretending to be a warrior." 

I learned how to be a Guardian on Terrestia, but it took me by surprise just how much of that was physical training rather than merely knowledge. And I have to wonder how much carrying around an intelligent sword was compensating for the gaps in my skill. 

Once I have my armor off and put away, and Wynne has finished healing everyone, I have Tom stun me again, and we continue on. 

"Using a wand now, and not a staff?" Wynne asks. 

"Not just _a_ wand," I reply. " _My_ wand. _This_ wand is a part of me." 

Sten nods in approval. He may not like me being a mage in general, but this is more in line with what he's been trying to teach me. 

The tunnels ahead are filled with giant spiders, and fighting our way past them, I find myself far more comfortable in using my wand again than I have been in years. I hadn't wanted to waste mana so much, but I'm finding this to be more effective and efficient than I had expected, although I probably should have expected it. Thedasian magic is designed to pour out huge amounts of damage but expend a lot of energy to do it, while Wizarding Earth magic is intended to compensate for a lower level of ambient mana by doing things neatly and efficiently. 

Tom and Gellert take my hint and put away their own staves, bringing out their wands again. What staff in this world can match the power of the Elder Wand, anyway? I have to grin, and think that the Blight's days are numbered. My mind is more clear and focused than it has been since I stepped into the Deep Roads. 

At the heart of the spiders' nest, an enormous spider queen with strange markings on her abdomon crawls out of nowhere, hissing at us ominously. 

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," Gellert says almost casually, and the huge spider drops in a flash of green light. 

"What manner of spell was _that_?" Wesley wonders. 

"A curse. That kills things," Gellert replies, heading into the nest to look around at the various bits of miscellany that the spiders have collected. 

"I do not believe that that was any sort of Chantry-approved magic," Wesley says. 

"And it doesn't even work on darkspawn or demons," Gellert says. "But spiders? Not a problem." 

"And what about humans?" Wesley says, narrowing his eyes at Gellert. 

"It will do the same thing to a human as it did to that spider," Gellert replies, looking back at him. "Or an elf, or a dwarf, or a... whatever it is that Sten is." 

"Kossith," I helpfully supply. 

Wesley scowls. "It disturbs me that you are even capable of casting such a thing. But this is merely the latest in a series of strange events. You, Hawke, and Lexen all seem to use magic of a sort I have never seen anyone but the three of you cast, aside from that which you have apparently been teaching to Morrigan and Wynne. I do not believe you learned that in the Circle of Magi. Where did you learn it? Did you make a deal with a demon for this sort of power?" 

Gellert snorts softly. "Of course not. The Circle of Magi isn't the sole source of magic in the universe." 

"There are traditions of magic far older than the Circle," Morrigan says. "Such as my shapeshifting spells." 

"But you and Lexen came to the tower as children," Wynne says to Gellert. "Where did you learn such things? I was led to believe that you found these spells in a book in the tower libraries, but Hawke uses the same sorts of spells." 

"And here come the uncomfortable questions that have no easy answers," I say, shaking my head. 

"There's an easy answer," Gellert says with a smirk. "We were _not_ children when we came to the tower. We just looked like it, since we'd aged ourselves down with magic." 

Wynne blinks at him until he gives a demonstration of changing his age, from child to old man, and back to being a young man again. 

"This is... very strange magic," Wesley says, frowning. "Magic is meant to serve man, and never to rule over him." 

"If you blighters are done arguing about the mage squishing a spider," Oghren says, looking up from some bits of paper that the spiders had gathered up. "I've got our next destination. Branka's writing is here, alright. And she says she's heading for the Dead Trenches." 

"The Dead Trenches?" Alistair says. "Oh, that sounds like a _lovely_ place to visit." 

"Right in the middle of a horde of darkspawn," Scregor says. "They nest there, and they'll be swarming all over the place." 

Wesley goes quiet as we move on down the tunnel, out of the spider lair, but still scowling and giving wary looks toward the three of us. 

"Clearly the Maker himself sent them to us," Leliana says. "Whatever strange magic they might use, wherever they might be from, they have done nothing but help people and destroy evil wherever it can be found." 

"I'll concede the point," Wesley says reluctantly. "They did save my life, with magic I'd never seen before... as though the Maker's hand guided them to me in my hour of need..." 

* * *

It takes us three days of travel before we reach the Dead Trenches, guided by old maps, Oghren and Scregor's limited knowledge. We have to backtrack several times after reaching a dead end, sometimes after a lengthy blind passage that turns out to have been caved in further on. 

It becomes increasingly hard on my mind, however. My thoughts grow increasingly fuzzy, but it's easy to keep walking, to keep moving, keep going on, because Urthemiel is ahead. Calling me to her, singing her siren song of darkness. 

And then, we step out of a tunnel, and there she is. I freeze in place, staring at her, gaping, unable to move for a long moment. The corrupted dragon flies down a high-roofed cavern and lands upon a bridge arching over the wide trench. My hands tremble, and I fall to my knees, doubling over onto my hands, head to the ground. 

"Lexen!" Tom calls, running up beside me and putting a hand on my shoulder. 

And then Urthemiel is gone, flying away down the vast tunnels, calling me to follow. My body is twitching, my hands shaking, my vision blurring. 

"That... was the archdemon, wasn't it," Rispy breathes. 

"Yes, it was," Alistair confirms quietly. 

"Pity it wasn't closer and probably immune to the curse anyway," Gellert says, "or I'd've ended the Blight right here and now." 

"Lexen, are you alright?" Leliana asks. 

"No," I rasp, slowly climbing to my feet again and shaking my head out. "But getting better now that it's moving away." I sigh heavily. "How am I going to fight that thing..." 

"With a sodding army, that's how," Oghren says. "Look at all them darkspawn." He peers down into the gorge, a stream of darkspawn marching by far below. 

Up ahead, darkspawn are swarming over the bridge that the archdemon had landed upon briefly. They are met on the opposite side by a small army of dwarves, valiantly standing their ground, holding their line against the horde. 

"The Legion will not falter!" shouts one of the dwarves. 

"By my ancestors, it's the Legion of the Dead," Oghren says. 

"Let us assist them," Scregor says, charging forward to meet the oncoming horde along with the dwarves. 

We engage the small army of darkspawn coming across the bridge. There are so _many_ of them, it makes my head spin. But fighting helps me to focus a bit, and ignore everything else but destroying my enemies. 

Shrieking from nowhere. Right beside me. The sharlock's talons rip through my now-unarmored body and take me down in the blink of an eye. 

* * *

I wake in my tent where we'd camped near the Dead Trenches. I admonish myself to pay more attention to my surroundings. 

I get up and eat a quick breakfast, trying to calm myself and focus. Fuck, this means I'm going to have to face the archdemon again. 

"So, who's up for taking a shot at the archdemon?" Gellert says lightly. 

That... might not be such a bad thing. 

"Do you think we'll actually run into it?" Alistair wonders. 

"Yes," I reply grimly. 

I pack up the tent, and we make our way to the Dead Trenches. We make it there faster this time, and are further out of the tunnel when the archdemon appears ahead of us. 

I try to focus, gritting my teeth and steeling my mind against Urthemiel's song. I cannot let this weakness destroy me and any attempt I might make at ending the Blight. Deliberately, I lift my wand and let off a curse, forcing myself to act against the archdemon's call. The other mages are sending their own spells, Leliana shooting off arrows, Rispy firing crossbow bolts. 

_Mastery of the self is mastery of the world_ , Sten told me. 

Discipline. Control. I will not allow any other being to control me. I will take my freedom. From the demons that might try to possess me, from Urthemiel's calling, let it wash over me like the tide and leave me unchanged. 

The dragon flies toward us, roaring with an unearthly shriek that practically shakes the world around me. It comes in close enough for the melee fighters to try to hack at it with their weapons. 

A flick of a tail, and Zevran goes flying off the ledge into the horde below. A swipe of a talon, and Wynne lies on the ground in a spreading pool of blood, torn apart right down the middle. A bite of jaws, and darkness engulfs me. 

* * *

I wake in my tent again. Alright, maybe trying to take on the archdemon here and now might not have been such a good idea. 

"Alright," Tom murmurs. "I think we're going to need more firepower if we want to take down a corrupted dragon god. Much as I hate to say this, considering who we have on our side here." 

"To be entirely fair, you and Gellert aren't Dark Lords anymore, either," I say. 

"And that may not mean much for most things, but where raw power is concerned, it can mean more than you'd expect," Tom says. 

Gellert pokes his head into the room and says, "So, got any better ideas for taking down that thing?" 

I shake my head. "I've got nothing." 

"How the fuck did they manage to kill these things before?" Gellert wonders. "I know, I know, the histories talk about how Grey Warden Whassisface struck down this archdemon or another, but that doesn't give any idea what fighting them is actually like. No strategy guides on how to take them down." 

"We'll figure something out," Tom says. 

"And I _did_ try using a Killing Curse against it in that last fight," Gellert says. "Nothing. Either it's immune like I figured it would be, or it's too strong to be affected by it, in either case, no easy answer considering if you need more raw power than I'm packing, it's probably not happening." Gellert grunts. "Silly me for thinking that it might be this easy." 

"I think that this is probably going to be anything but easy," I say. 

Out in the main room of the tent over breakfast, Gellert asks, "So, Alistair, how do you kill an archdemon, anyway?" 

Alistair replies, "You hit it until it stops moving, so far as I know." 

"Very helpful, oh expert Grey Warden," Gellert drawls. 

We make our way the short distance to the Dead Trenches. 

Something is different. The archdemon is sitting on the bridge, looking directly at the tunnel we're coming out of. She knows we're here. She's waiting for us this time. 

And she wants me to come to her, and follow her. 

Urthemiel comes at us again, her reverberating screeches echoing throughout the caverns. She strikes first this time, taking us a bit by surprise, but we fight nonetheless, we fight with all we have. 

It's not enough. Savage claws tear me apart, and darkness takes me once more. 

* * *

I wake in my tent with a groan. "That's... not good." 

"No, it's not," Tom says, scowling and examining me closely. "The bond that ties you to the archdemon is not at all the same sort as exists between you and I and the others. This should not be possible." 

"And yet she knew we were coming," I say. "She _knew_." 

"Perhaps she is getting the information from your mind?" Tom suggests. "These visions and nightmares you've been having don't seem to be affected much by your Occlumency shields." 

"I don't like that possibility, but I like it better than the alternative... that I've somehow made the archdemon immortal." 

"If it were the same sort of bond, I'd say that that prospect at least comes with the consolation that the Blight ends every time you die," Tom says. "But I doubt the world would be so fortunate that that's the case." 

We make our way to the Dead Trenches once more. Urthemiel sits on the bridge, quietly watching and waiting. She looks to me, her piercing gaze meeting mine for one brief moment that sears into my mind with dragon song. And then she spreads her mighty wings and flies away. 

This should not be happening. Things don't happen differently unless I or someone bound to me changes something. Fuck. 

My companions, aside from those bound to me, are completely unaware of how my blood chills in blind panic just thinking over the possibilities. 

"That was the archdemon, wasn't it," Scregor says matter-of-factly. 

"Yes, it was," Alistair says. 

I don't pause to chat about it. I stride up toward the bridge, where the dwarves are fighting an oncoming stream of darkspawn. "For the Grey Wardens!" I shout as I cast a Mass Energize spell upon all nearby allies. "Wardens, _hold the line!_ " 

"For the Legion of the Dead!" shouts one of the dwarves. " _Hold the line!_ " 

A small army of darkspawn pours across the bridge, but we stand our ground and slaughter any that come close, meeting their onslaught with blades and spells. Dozens of the creatures fall before the tide finally stems, but I can still see more darkspawn across the bridge, waving their weapons and waiting for us. 

"Nothing like a good fight," says one of the dwarves with a large tattoo across his scarred face. "I'm Kardol, of the Legion of the Dead. What brings the Grey Wardens out this far into the deeps?" 

"We're looking for Branka," I tell him. "And if she's dead, the Anvil of the Void, which her research indicates may be out this way." 

"Branka? The Anvil of the Void?" Kardol snorts softly. "You're out here chasing legends while Orzammar's trying to settle the throne? Or did someone get the bright idea that a Paragon might help, since they can't decide for themselves who should be king?" 

"Things would be so much simpler if you would just have me assassinate Bhelen," Zevran says lightly. 

Scregor smirks. " _I'm_ going to be the next king, and if I have to dig up legends to do it, then so be it. I'm certainly not going to stay in Orzammar bickering with the rest of them when there's something useful to be done." 

Kardol gives Scregor a long look. "Scregor Aeducan? The kinslayer?" 

"I did _not_ kill Trian," Scregor almost growls. "That was Bhelen's doing." 

Kardol shakes his head and says, "The Legion has no part in politics. We're just holding the line while those deshyrs back in Orzammar figure out whose ass they want on the throne. But if you want to chase ghosts and shadows to shore up your claim to the throne, I'm certainly not going to stop you." 

"What _is_ the Legion of the Dead?" I wonder. 

"A final chance at redemption through sacrifice," Kardol replies. "We die to our brethren so that we can fight without fear. And we die fighting darkspawn, much like you Grey Wardens. That's all I'm going to say." 

"I see," I say. 

"I don't see what interest the Grey Wardens have in the throne of Orzammar, though," Kardol says. 

"They won't send me the troops I need without a king," I say. "And I'm just as interested in this anvil. If it's really here and lives up to the legends, it could prove a great help against the Blight." 

"I didn't think the Wardens were that desperate," Kardol says. 

"Definitely that desperate," Gellert says. 

"Tom, hit me," I say, and Tom stuns me and revives me. "Alright. Let's push across this bridge, Wardens. Fighters in front. Mages and archers in back. Forward!" 

We make our way carefully across the bridge, avoiding getting overwhelmed or separated. There are a lot of darkspawn, genlocks and hurlocks, many of them archers, a handful of shrieks, and an ogre. But I focus on my magic, sending curses left and right, blessing my allies, and destroying my enemies as I can. I try not to expend too much energy unnecessarily on big, flashy spells, not when more efficient magic is just as effective. I have a feeling that this is going to be a long day. 

Once this group of darkspawn are dead, I stop to rest for a bit as Wynne works on healing everyone up. We'll continue on soon enough. It's rough being around this many darkspawn, but I'm managing well enough for the moment. At least when I'm fighting, I can ignore Urthemiel's song more easily. 

Kardol comes across the bridge, and says, "Well, Wardens, you've cut a swath through the horde. I'll give you credit for skill and determination, even if I still think your quest is mad." 

"Oh, people call me insane all the time," I say, smirking. "Usually Rispy." 

"Well, it's true," Rispy says. "We are all insane." 

Kardol looks to Scregor and says, "Maybe you'll wind up getting the throne after all, provided you don't die in there. Be nice to have a king who knows what it's really like out here for a change. But I'm not going to hold my breath." 


	29. The Anvil of the Void

The entrance to the great fortress of Bownammar is a massive gate that none of us have any way of readily opening. The dwarves certainly do like building things big. I'm about to start wondering if we're going to need to bust out the heavy magic to crack this thing. 

"There's a side passage leading in," Rispy calls out, waving us over. 

To the left of the gates, there's a section of crumbled rock, giving way to an opening with a tunnel leading down into the fortress. 

"Maybe this is how the darkspawn compromised the place to begin with," Scregor says. "Sent in sappers to burrow a hole straight into the middle of the fort..." 

As we head down through the tunnel, I comment, "You probably wouldn't have guessed it, but there are darkspawn in there. Maybe it would be more remarkable if I made note of whenever there _aren't_ darkspawn ahead." 

"In which case it'll probably be spiders or deepstalkers," Rispy says. 

Once past the tunnel and inside, we slowly start to make our way through the fortress. It's more of a mausoleum, really, each side chamber containing sarcophagi of long-dead dwarves. Which means there might be loot to poke through. 

"Lexen! Are you robbing the dead?" Wynne says admonishingly. "Gellert? Hawke? Rispy? You too?" 

"They don't need it anymore," Rispy says. "No sense in letting it go to waste." 

Darkspawn. Darkspawn everywhere. Between the constant sensation of being around so many darkspawn, and the addition of a few more deaths as we fight our way through, I'm exhausted, running on lyrium by this point. I guzzle down the potions to keep me going, glad that we'd paranoidly stocked up on far more than we thought we could possibly need, because it's always better to have too many than too few. 

Further in, we start coming upon sacs of pinkish flesh and tendrils clinging to the walls. It roils my stomach, distinctly reminding me of how the Circle Tower looked when overrun by abominations. That can't be a good sign. 

"This place is disgusting," Morrigan comments. 

"Indeed," Leliana agrees. 

"First day they come and catch everyone," says a voice out of nowhere. 

"Who said that?" I wonder. 

"The mouse in your pocket, I'm sure," Morrigan says lightly. 

I glare at her and keep walking. 

"Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat," the voice goes on. 

"That's definitely a female voice," I say. 

"Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.   
Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.   
Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.   
Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams.   
Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew.   
Eight day, we hated as she is violated.   
Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin.   
Now she does feast, as she's become the beast." 

The source of the creepy poetry becomes clear as we come upon a dwarven woman, although from the lines and splotches visible on her skin, she appears to be in the advanced stages of darkspawn corruption, or something very much like it. 

As we approach, she looks up at me with milky eyes. "What is this? Strangers, in this place of despair? No, it is only a dream. A vision I have made for myself of hope and freedom. There is no hope or freedom in this place." 

"We're not a dream," I tell her. "There is still hope. We can help you." 

Although, if her mind is as far gone as Ruck, I don't know what help we might be. Even if we can cure the taint, we can't undo two years of madness, unless perhaps with a high-powered Obliviate spell to wipe away the memories of her time here. 

"What help is to be found for me in this place? All I could do is wish Laryn went first, so that I might be spared. But being forced to watch was no mercy. I had to watch her change. The terrible things they did to her, to us. How can anyone endure this? How did Branka stand by and watch while they did this to us?" 

"Branka?" I say. "You're from her house, aren't you? One of those she took with her on her expedition?" 

The dwarven woman shakes her head vehemently. "I do not wish to speak about Branka. I was her captain and her lover, and I could not dissuade her from this course. There cannot be forgiveness for her. Not for what she's done. Not for what she allowed them to do to us." 

"Hespith was her lover?" Oghren says. "No wonder she ran off and left me in Orzammar. If I'd known she had those sorts of tastes, I might have done things a little differently." He chuckles. 

"Perhaps enduring you was enough in and of itself to drive her to seek out the company of other women for comfort," Morrigan comments. 

I roll my eyes and ignore them, turning my attention back to Hespith. "What do you mean, _allowed_ them to do? What did Branka do, anyway? You can't mean to say that she let the darkspawn..." 

"No!" Hespith snaps. "I will not speak of this. I will not turn. I will not become a monster. Not like Laryn. Not like Branka." 

She turns to try to run off, but I grab her by the arm. "Hespith! Please, tell me!" 

"Is Branka still here?" Gellert asks. "Did she find the Anvil?" 

"I will not hear anymore of Branka," Hespith says firmly. "La, la, la, la, la..." 

"What about the Anvil?" Gellert asks. 

"Down in the darkness," Hespith says. "Surrounded by darkness. Drawing everything and everyone down into its darkness. Branka let the obsession consume her. There was nothing left in her but the Anvil. No! I will say no more." 

After some more prodding questions, it becomes clear that Hespith isn't going to say anything else, and neither is she willing to believe that there's any hope for saving her. I eventually sigh and let her run off as she wishes to do. 

"What manner of madness is this?" I mutter. 

"What did Branka _do_?" Scregor says. 

"Of course this wasn't going to be simple," Rispy says. 

"Whatever happened here, the Anvil can't be far away," Gellert says. "Let's go find it, shall we?" 

"And maybe we'll get some answers along the way, too," I say. 

I have Tom stun me again, and we continue on. And just as well, since I get killed by a pair of ogres past the next door. 

I down a lyrium potion after I wake up again, but I'm definitely feeling this wearing on me. We take down the ogres more carefully this time, and we move on. 

I don't know where Hespith is, but I can still hear her voice, murmuring from somewhere nearby. "They just killed the men, but they wanted the women. They wanted to take us and change us, to fill us up with them." 

"That's horrible," Wynne says. 

"Like Laryn," Hespith goes on. "They took her. They changed her. They forced her to eat the flesh of her friends and family. She even ate her own husband..." 

"I think I'm going to be sick," Leliana says softly. 

"And she changed, and she grew..." Hespith continues. "And once they had changed her, she began to make more of them. They made her their broodmother..." 

The ground we're walking on has become squishy and pinkish, like sickly flesh. And then we see, in the cavern ahead, the most horrible sight I have ever witnessed. A creature, tentacles sprouting from its base, no less than ten sagging breasts hanging from its-- _her_ \-- front. Her face is hideous and warped. Was this... was she a dwarf once? Was this Laryn? 

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Gellert says. The flash of green light strikes the monstrous creature, to no apparent effect. "Well, it was worth a shot." 

"That spell never seems to work on the things you really wish it would work on," Tom comments. 

Darkspawn flood out from side tunnels to protect their broodmother. Genlocks, hurlocks, and shrieks charge at my group, and we fight. I can't afford to hold anything back here. This abomination _must_ be destroyed. 

Twice more I die, torn apart by tentacles and impaled by the claws of shrieks. On the third attempt, I've had enough. I let forth a massive burst of lightning, a thunderstorm concentrated directly on top of the broodmother, and hold it there until all enemies are dead. 

"Fuck me," I murmur, collapsing to my knees. 

Tom comes over and puts another lyrium potion to my lips, helping me drink it down. 

Hespith's voice comes from above, where she's standing on a nearby ledge. "That's why they take us. That's why they need us. That's why they hate us. That's why they feed us." 

"Oh, do knock it off with the poetry already," Gellert says. 

"It was bad enough that this happened," Hespith says. "But more than that, it was allowed. Branka allowed all of this to happen." 

"I'm finding this all a little hard to believe, even of Branka," Oghren says. "The girl I knew was a genius. Not... _crazy_." 

"Branka's betrayal cuts deeper than any blade," Hespith says. 

"We can still save you, Hespith," I say, but my words ring hollow even in my own ears. 

"There is no salvation to be found in this dark place," Hespith says. "Only the mercy of the Stone, to finally end the punishment that it has inflicted upon me." 

Hespith steps off the ledge, and goes plummeting to the ground with a soft crunch. I scramble over and look her over, but she's already dead from the impact. 

"I can't save anything here, can I," I murmur. 

"I think, to have saved these people, we would need to have started two years ago, at the very least," Gellert comments. "And five years for Ruck." 

"You can't save everyone, Lexen," Tom says, putting his hand on my shoulder. 

"People are free to make their own mistakes," Rispy says. "You certainly can't save them from _themselves_." 

"What was Hespith's mistake?" I demand. "What was Laryn's?" 

"Following Branka," Scregor says bitterly. "Much as I might hate to speak ill of a Paragon, I have to admit that if any of what Hespith said is true, Branka is not worthy of the title." 

"She never used to be this crazy," Oghren says. "What happened to her? Where did she lose it? Sod it all." 

I shake my head and sigh. "I'm sorry, Hespith," I whisper. "I'm sorry, Laryn." 

A horrible image comes to mind, of a broodmother with Cassie's face. The very thought makes me feel nauseous. Could that have happened to her, had we brought her here? I would _utterly destroy_ anyone responsible for doing such a thing to my beloved Cassie. 

"Never again," I rasp. " _No one else_. I will stop the Blight. And I will put an end to the darkspawn. There will be _no more_ of this." 

Whatever they might think about the likelihood of my proclamation, my companions don't argue the sentiment. 

But there's nowhere to go but forward. There's no turning back now. We're getting close to what we came down here for. I just hope it was all worth it. 

As we pass out of another winding tunnel, a dwarven woman stands before us. There's no sign of the blight sickness upon her face, but she doesn't look nearly as happy to see us as one might think. 

"Branka!" Oghren cries out. "You don't look to have been doing too badly for yourself, all things considered." 

"Oghren," Branka replies, considerably less enthusiastically. "I might have guessed that you'd stumble down this way eventually. And who have you brought with you? Hirelings sent by the latest noble who thought to garner fame and glory by finding me? Or just the only ones who could stand to be around you?" 

"Oh, believe me, it's certainly not the latter," Morrigan says, rolling her eyes. 

"We're Grey Wardens," Rispy says. 

"And we hoped to secure the Anvil in order to help against the Blight," Tom says. 

"If you would find the Anvil, it lies beyond a gauntlet of traps designed by Caridin himself," Branka says. "You will not be able to simply walk through and reclaim it where I have spent two years working at finding a way through." 

"Silencing the deshyrs' bickering would be a nice bonus, as well," Scregor adds. 

"What are they bickering about now?" Branka wonders. "Did King Endrin die or something? He was getting a bit old and decrepit, wasn't he?" 

"That's my father you're speaking of," Scregor replies. 

"Oh?" Branka says. "And you came down here to help your own bid to the throne, I'm guessing?" 

"I came down here to help the Grey Wardens find you, and the Anvil of the Void," Scregor replies. "Unlike those Stone-blinded deshyrs and my blighted brother, I'd rather do something _useful_." 

"At least someone has their priorities in order," Branka says. "It doesn't matter who is king, in the long run. But finding the Anvil will benefit the dwarven people as a whole. I've sacrificed everything to find it." 

"Even Hespith?" I say bitterly. "Even your own lover?" 

"Even she tried to leave me," Branka says. "She did not understand the need for sacrifices. She did not understand, and even she tried to betray me." 

" _She_ tried to betray _you_?" I say. "Did you _see_ what they did to her? To Laryn?" 

"You will not question me," Branka says. "I am a Paragon. They were my house, sworn to serve me, so I made them serve me. I sent them in to test the traps, to find a way through by trial and error. Some of the women were changing, though, and I realized that they could still serve me. I could send in darkspawn to test the traps as well!" 

"Alright, Lexen," Rispy says. "I take back all the times I've ever called you insane. This makes you look like a Paragon of Sanity." 

"Well, if you think only trial and error will get anyone through these traps, then I am the Paragon of Trial and Error," I comment. 

"Go, then, and be slain in those traps like all the others who came before you," Branka says. 

We walk away from Branka toward where the gauntlet of traps begins. 

"Alright..." I mutter. "I was pretty sure she was crazy before, but that might have just been that Hespith was babbling incoherently and didn't really know what was going on. This, however... yeah, she's definitely an archdemon short of a Blight." 

"I want to know what she's been eating down here," Gellert says. "Are there many hallucinogenic mushrooms in the Deep Roads?" 

"Tom, Gellert, Rispy, you're with me," I say. "The rest of you, guard our flank and make sure no darkspawn come wandering in while we're trying to find a way past the traps. We certainly don't need _more_ complications." 

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Leliana says. "Maybe you could use our help with them." 

"If we run across anything that looks like anyone else's particular skills might solve, we'll come back and ask," I say. "Tom, stun me." 

With that, we head in. I have no idea what to expect. I was thinking something like the traps that Dumbledore had used to guard the Philosopher's Stone at Hogwarts that one time, but from the looks of things, this place is far, far more deadly. The way is guarded by golems, and poison, and strange devices. I die again and again, but we push through and figure out the traps one by one. 

"Ugh," I mutter. "I never thought that I would die so many times in one day." 

"How are you doing on the lyrium?" Gellert asks. 

"Running low," I say. "Remember how we brought 'way more than needed'? In the future, let's bring double of 'way more than needed'." 

Finally, we come to the end of the traps, and spot what looks like a giant forge up ahead, with molten lava pouring down along the walls. We head back to meet up again with the others. 

"We've cleared the way," I say. "Come on." 

We step into the enormous forge, and I think I spot a strange-looking anvil perched over the molten lava at the far end. However, between us and it, there are a number of golems, one of them looking particularly large and metallic. 

"My name is Caridin," says the metal golem. 

"Caridin?" Scregor says. "The Paragon Caridin? A golem?" 

"I was a Paragon, once, long ago," Caridin says. "If you would seek the Anvil of the Void, then you must hear my story." 

"Then tell us," I say. 

"While I made many things in my time, my fame and status were based off a single work: the Anvil of the Void," Caridin says. "I learned to forge men that were stronger than flesh and bone could ever be. But the terrible price of that went into each golem was not so well-known. I was a mere smith. I could not create life. I had to take their lives from elsewhere. They were volunteers at first, but the king was greedy, and sent me unwilling prisoners to be transformed into our staunchest defenders." 

"You know, I have a big book in my pocket that tells all about creating life," Gellert comments. "Including golems, mind you." 

"How did you wind up becoming a golem yourself?" I ask. 

"I protested the purposes the Anvil was being put to," Caridin says. "The king ordered me put to the Anvil was well. My apprentices did the work, but they could not make a control rod that would hold me. My mind remained free." 

"Wait a minute," I say. "A control rod? You didn't just transform people into immortal, nigh-indestructible warriors... you _enslaved_ them?" 

"Yes," Caridin says, his metallic voice seeming to echo with eons of regret. 

I reel at the thought. "So all those golems we fought on the way here were just slaves being controlled against their will?" I glance to the other ones around me. "And what of these? More slaves for your damned army?" 

"I cannot undo what has been done already," Caridin says. "I can only ask that you destroy the Anvil of the Void. Do not allow it to enslave anymore souls." 

"No!" cries out Branka, running in through the tunnel behind us. "The Anvil is mine! I earned it! I sacrificed everything for this prize!" 

"Branka, how mad have you become?" Oghren says. "Don't you see what this has done to you?" 

Gellert rolls his eyes and holds up a book. "Hey, guys. One free copy of the secrets of life to whoever wants to quit bickering and moping and do something useful instead?" 

"Is spreading Shaping arts to Ferelden really a good idea?" I say to him quietly. "I don't know what Irving's going to do... but these are dwarves. You need magic to Shape. I don't think they can even do it anyway." 

"Quiet, you," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"The Anvil will let us reclaim our glory!" Branka rants on. 

"Aaaand no one is listening to me anyway," Gellert says, shrugging and putting the book away. 

"Branka, I'm not going to allow anyone else to become enslaved by the Anvil," I say. "The idea of transforming life isn't such a terrible one, in and of itself, but what was done with it and because of it is abhorrent." 

"You don't seriously intend to destroy the Anvil, do you?" Morrigan says. "Think of the potential in such a device!" 

"Whatever I intend to do, I'm not going to side with the crazy," I say. "Even if I _weren't_ to destroy the Anvil, I don't trust Branka to use it responsibly anyway. Look what she did with her own clan." 

"You would keep me from my hard-earned reward?" Branka says, pulling out a length of metal and raising it aloft. "Golems! Attack!" 

"A control rod?" Caridin says as the other golems start to move against us. "No! Help me, strangers!" 

I growl and turn my wand against Branka, and shout, "I will not allow you to enslave anymore souls! _Freedom for all beings!_ " 

I let out a concentrated burst of lightning toward the control rod. Time seems to slow down as the attack strikes true. Sparks fly. The rod violently explodes. A shockwave erupts in slow-motion across the room, sending my companions stumbling back onto the ground. 

I lay flat on my back, stunned and winded for a long moment, drained and exhausted. But I'm distinctly not being killed, and I slowly climb to my feet. My companions are doing likewise. The golems are sparking with electricity, and Branka's body lies unmoving, the ruined control rod still tightly clenched in her hand. 

I stagger over to check on her, but she's clearly dead. "I'm sorry, Oghren," I say quietly. 

Oghren shakes his head. "I always knew the Anvil would kill her. Bah, what a waste." 

"Oghren, if I ever happen to go back in time, I promise you I will do whatever I can to prevent this," I say. 

Oghren grunts. "Some consolation. But the way you talk about it, I might just believe you could do it." 

Caridin is lying flat on the ground as well, sparking a bit himself. "Caridin? Are you alright?" 

"I still live," Caridin replies. "But I cannot seem to move. Nonetheless, I thank you for your efforts, even if it cost another life. Perhaps it will end here. Please, destroy the Anvil, before it claims anymore lives." 

"Let's see if I can get you... fixed," I say. I drink down another lyrium potion to revitalize me a bit, and let mana and electricity probe the metal golem. After a bit of careful work and nudging, Caridin starts moving again, and laborously climbs to his feet. 

"Is there any favor that I might grant you for your assistance?" Caridin asks. 

"Oghren?" I say, glancing over to him. "I'm sorry things ended this way. You have more right than anyone to ask anything of him." 

"Is there any chance you could bring Branka back?" Oghren asks. "Maybe turn her into a golem like you?" 

"Even were she still alive, I would not do such a thing to her," Caridin says. 

"Didn't think so," Oghren says. "Well, I guess there's still the matter of the election." He looks aside to Scregor. "You still looking to become king? You've got old Oghren's support, for what it's worth. You were the only one who actually stepped up to try to find my wife." 

"Ah," Caridin says, looking to Scregor. "You seek to become king? I could set hammer to steel once more, and forge you a crown as an endorsement from a Paragon." 

"Do you expect us to just go back and claim such a thing was made by a Paragon, and have them believe us?" I say. "What's to say we didn't just find it somewhere, even if they _do_ recognize it as a Paragon's work?" 

"I have lived long past my time," Caridin says. "It is long past time to close the book on my era." 

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you're getting mopey again?" Gellert says. 

"It never ceases to baffle me why people would reject immortality," Tom says. 

"You could do a lot of good for the dwarves," Leliana says. "There are many things that you could yet do." 

"And if you're tired of being a golem for whatever reason, I'm sure we could find a way to make you a dwarf again," I say. 

"If I were to return to Orzammar, the people would expect me to make golems for them again, and that I would not do," Caridin says. 

"So make golems for them," Gellert says. "But not these sorts of golems." He pulls out his book again. "Secret of life? Right here? The Shapers of Terrestia, a land far across the sea, knew how to make golems. They knew how to make living, intelligent creatures from nothing but magic and raw materials." 

"How is such a thing possible?" Caridin says. 

"Uh-uh-uh," Gellert says, shaking his hand and waving the book around. "A favor for a favor for a favor for... oh, whatever. Once Scregor's arse is on the throne, you can go to Kinloch Hold and work with a young smith named Dagna. She'll be working on this material." 

"I... will admit that I am curious," Caridin says. 

"You are, of course, free to take a magma dive if you really want to," I say. "But there is yet much to live for. Much to do, and much to learn. And..." My eyes narrow at him. "I don't know if anyone else here dares to say it, but _I_ demand atonement for your crimes. For the sake of all the lives you destroyed. Will you simply walk away from that?" 

Caridin lets out a heavy metallic sigh. "I cannot refute your arguments. Very well. I shall do as you ask." 

"Although," Scregor puts in. "If you're still inclined to do a little forging, maybe not a crown, but perhaps a nice shiny suit of armor?" He grins a bit. 

"Don't push your luck," Rispy says with a snort. 

"Hey, it's worth asking," Scregor says. 

"Yes, because kings are supposed to have shiny gold armor to let everyone know they're a king," I say dryly. 

"Exactly," Scregor says. 

"Very well," Caridin says, the barest hint of amusement creeping into his voice. "I shall make you a suit of shiny gold armor." 


	30. A New King

I wake slowly to the sensation of gentle swaying and a rhythmic metallic clomping against the stone floor. Neither waking nor sleeping is any reprieve from the nightmares. I blink for a moment as I realize that I'm being carried in a harness across Caridin's broad, metal back. The others are walking along with him down a tunnel in the Deep Roads. 

"Nngh," I say. "Where are we?" 

Caridin stops to allow me to clamber out and stand on my own feet. "We are nearing Orzammar," he replies. 

"You were asleep for three days again," Tom says. "After everything that happened, the rest was probably good for you." He shoves some food into my hands. "Eat." 

After how many times I died trying to find the damned Anvil, he means. Trying to find and ultimately destroying. I ravenously devour the food in my hands. 

"Almost back to Orzammar, and hoping that my little brother hasn't done anything else to complicate things in the meantime," Scregor says. 

Scregor is leading our procession when we return to Orzammar, his new armor shimmering red-gold in the fiery light of the city. He looks every part the king, and people on the streets stare at him and murmur as we pass, although Caridin gets a fair bit of attention as well, even if people don't have any idea that he's more than just a slightly unusual golem. 

We march straight to the Assembly Hall, not even bothering to clean up along the way and still looking like we've been fighting darkspawn nonstop for over a week. There's a heated debate going on as we enter. 

"My father has but one living child to assume the Aeducan throne!" Bhelen shouts. 

"You know as well as I do that Scregor isn't dead," Harrowmont says. 

"He was exiled! Stripped from the records! He is no longer a member of this family, and as good as no longer exists!" 

Scregor strides into the hall and states, "I seem to exist very well, no thanks to your schemes and betrayals." 

"You dare besmirch this hall, kinslayer?" Bhelen demands. 

"I could say the same to you, seeing as _you_ were the one who slew our brother Trian!" 

The Assembly roars at those words, in anger, shock, disbelief. Some of them shout down Bhelen, while others cast their ire toward Scregor instead. 

"But fine," Scregor says. "Don't take _my_ word on it. I'll defer to the judgment of the Paragon Caridin." He bows to the huge metal golem. 

"Caridin?" murmur the deshyrs. "Is that really Caridin? It couldn't be!" 

"What sort of trickery is this?" Bhelen says. 

"I am, indeed, Caridin. It has been long since I walked these halls, and spoke with other dwarves. This man," he gestures to Scregor, "and his allies, have done naught but act with honor and courage. For Scregor Aeducan, I crafted upon the Anvil of the Void a suit of armor worthy of a king." 

Several people cautiously go up toward Scregor and Caridin, and examine both the armor and the golem. "The quality and craftsmanship of this armor... only a Paragon could have made something like this!" 

"This proves nothing," Bhelen says. "He could have found this armor out in a lost thaig somewhere, and then controlled this golem to pretend to be Caridin!" 

"I will prove my identity if you so wish," Caridin says with admirable patience. 

"Fine, then how do you make golems?" Bhelen asks. 

"I would not explain to you the details necessary to duplicate the process even if the Anvil of the Void were still intact," Caridin says. "Golems were created by binding the souls of dwarves into bodies of metal and stone. And when I refused to inflict that upon anymore unwilling participants, King Voltar had my apprentices do the same to me." 

"Bhelen, stand down," says the Assembly steward. "I believe this really _is_ the Paragon Caridin. And your own role in the events leading up to the death of Prince Trian is being called into question." 

"So you would make an exile king?" Bhelen snarls. "A kinslayer?" 

"Bhelen, stop your blustering, and you might walk away from this with merely exile yourself," Scregor says. 

"I will not stand for this!" Bhelen says. "Attack!" 

"They have weapons!" says the stewart in shock as several deshyrs pull out weapons and outright attack the Assembly. I quickly throw up protective magic over the defenders. 

"Bhelen, are you just _stupid_?" Scregor says, blocking Bhelen's attack. "I will not become the kinslayer you have painted me as by killing you!" 

"Nor I," Rispy says. "I'm not going to kill the father of my sister's son... unless he's done something to my sister." 

"Oh, for love of the sodding Stone," Oghren says. "If neither of you blighters will kill this nug-spittle, _I'll_ do it then." 

Oghren swings his large sword and neatly decapitates Bhelen. The head goes flying off and rolls to a stop at Caridin's feet. 

I try to stun some of the deshyrs, but I'm unable to affect them with these sorts of spells. My companions, however, seem to have determined that they're obviously idiots, and aren't holding back against them. I kind of see the point. Who seriously attacks a group of heavily armed Grey Wardens? 

Once the fighting has died down and all of the combatants are dead or unconscious, Scregor looks at Bhelen's corpse and shakes his head. "Bhelen, Stone damn it, what did you think you were going to accomplish by doing this?" He sighs. 

"Well..." Rispy says. "Succession crisis solved, I think." 

"More lives lost because of the Anvil..." Caridin rumbles. 

"This had nothing to do with the blighted Anvil," Scregor says. "These events began before any of us even knew it was still out there. Bhelen has been plotting out his coup for years, I think." 

"Well then," the steward says. "If it is the judgment of a Paragon that Scregor is innocent and the crimes of which he was convicted should be pinned upon Bhelen instead, I see no reason why his claim to the throne should be denied. Does anyone present dispute that?" 

None of the surviving deshyrs speak out against Scregor. 

Scregor approaches me and says, "You have my eternal gratitude. Orzammar owes you. _I_ owe you. I must make preparations for the coronation ceremony... and to return my brother to the Stone. Whatever he might have done, I'm not going to disown him or strike his name from the records. And I'm certainly not going to throw out Rispy's family." 

Rispy inclines his head to him in gratitude himself. "Thank you... brother." 

Scregor grunts in amusement. "Funny, I'd rather have a duster as a brother than the one I was born with." He gives a crooked grin, then turns back to me. "You will have your troops, Warden-Commander. The dwarves will do their part to stop this Blight." 

"I'm glad for that," I say. "I am certain that you will make a fine king." 

Leaving Scregor to his duties, the rest of us leave the Assembly Hall and split up, some heading straight back for the Grey Warden headquarters to clean up and get some rest, others going to make a stop at the Shaperate, Wynne going off to break the bad news to Ruck's mother about his 'death', and Oghren heading down to Tapster's. 

"I want to go and check on my sister," Rispy says. "If anything's happened to her, I'm going to reconsider letting Oghren kill Bhelen. And then hunt down Vartag." 

"I'll come with you," I say, and Tom and Gellert seem to decide to follow along with us as well, in addition to the dog ever-present at my heels. 

We head for the palace. News travels very quickly in Orzammar, apparently, and the guards outside have already heard about what happened at the Assembly and Scregor's impending coronation. They stand aside and let us in. 

"Excuse me," Rispy says to one of the guards inside. "I'm looking for my sister, Rica, and my mother, Kalah. Are they here somewhere?" 

The guard gives Rispy a look of undisguised disgust. "Ah. You're the concubine's brother. You can find her down that hall, first door on the left." He points vaguely. 

We head over to the room in question. The older dwarven woman is laying on the bed, murmuring incoherently in a drunken stupor, while the younger one tends to her in frustration. 

When we enter the room, Rica straightens and storms over to Rispy. "You finally show your face back here?" 

"I'm glad to see you're alright, too, Rica," Rispy says. 

"You certainly didn't seem to care when you were opposing Bhelen for the throne!" Rica says. 

"I'm sorry," Rispy says. "But I could not, in good conscience, support someone who murdered one of his brothers and framed the other brother for it." 

"And what's going to happen now?" Rica asks. "Bhelen has been furious with you!" 

"Bhelen... is dead," Rispy says. 

"He's dead?" Rica shrieks. "What-- What happened? Did you kill him?" 

"No," Rispy says. "Oghren did. After he and half the deshyrs _attacked_ the other half of the Assembly _and_ the Grey Wardens who were present." 

"I'd call him a sore loser," Gellert says. 

"Oh, Paragons, what's going to happen to us now?" Rica says. "We'll be cast back to Dust Town for sure!" 

Rispy shakes his head. "Scregor isn't going to throw you out. He's not going to disown Bhelen, your son is still his nephew, and he's practically adopted me as his brother. It'll be fine." 

"I'll believe it when he actually follows through on those promises," Rica spits. "But right now... Just, leave me alone, Rispy. I don't even want to talk to you anymore." 

Rispy sighs. "Alright, Rica. I'll be going back to the surface soon to fight the Blight with the Grey Wardens. I... goodbye, Rica." 

He turns and leaves the room, and we follow after him. 

"I'm sorry things turned out like this, Rispy," I say. 

Rispy shakes his head. "Not much help for it. After hearing about what he did, there was no way I would have supported Bhelen, even if Scregor hadn't been an option. Even if that meant the death of the man my sister had fallen in love with. I don't even know if she loved him at all, or if it was just because he was a prince and had actually shown the least bit of attention toward her. I don't know if Bhelen loved her, either. I don't think I want to know." 

* * *

We spend the night in the Grey Warden headquarters in Orzammar, taking a well-deserved break after trudging through the Deep Roads for over a week. 

"So, it's my understanding that the three of you are originally from this distant land, Terrestia was it?" Wynne says over breakfast the next morning. 

"I really would rather not talk about it," I say, shaking my head. 

"But we have no records of such a land," Wynne says. "It would be most fascinating to learn about other places--" 

"Wynne," I say, holding up my hand. "No offense, but... we left Terrestia for a reason. There was a war going on. Things got... bad. And I fear that by spreading the Shaping arts here, we might just have brought Terrestia's problems to Ferelden, if not further. In Terrestia there was a saying, 'You cannot unring a bell.'" 

"I see," Wynne says, frowning. "I apologize. I was merely curious. I did not mean to poke a sore spot." 

"Don't worry about it," I say with a shrug, and glance over at Oghren. "So what're you planning to do now, Oghren?" 

"Thinking I might go with you, if you can stand me," Oghren says. "You Grey Wardens looking for recruits? If not, I guess King Scregor can always use more sodding warriors." 

"Hmm," I say thoughtfully, leaning back in the chair and staring up at the ceiling, debating for several long moments. "I guess having another competent fighter along is never a bad thing. But you're bringing your own booze." 

"The Grey Wardens take support wherever it can be found," Tom says, nodding. 

"Hah!" Oghren says. "Think of it. Me? A Grey Warden?" He grunts. "I'm surprised they haven't kicked me out on my lily arse after killing a prince in the middle of the Assembly Hall, though. They threatened to have me stripped of my caste if I so much as carried a weapon or started a fight inside the city again. And _that_ I get away with? That's rich." 

"Maybe they're still in shock," Gellert says. 

"In shock over the idea that Bhelen would attack such a heavily armed group in the first place, perhaps," Alistair suggests. 

As we're finishing up with breakfast and packing up to leave, Caridin shows up at the entrance to the Grey Warden stronghold. 

"I heard you were leaving today and came to see you off," Caridin says. "I will be remaining here another day, helping the Shaperate fill in some of their records of my time. Then, I will set off toward Kinloch Hold. King Scregor will be providing me an honor guard to accompany me." 

"Thank you for your assistance," I say. "I wasn't sure if we were going to get the support we needed to put Scregor on the throne, short of assassinating Bhelen or something." I cast a glance at Zevran and smirk. 

"And you, Gellert was it?" Caridin says. "I thank you for the knowledge you have shared with me. I have to admit that it will be interesting to work on the creation of life rather than the destruction of it. Perhaps in this way I can find some atonement for all the lives I destroyed in the past." 

"Just no more slavery, alright?" I say. "If you create something that wishes to be free, then let it be free." 

"Of course," Caridin says, bowing his head toward me slightly. " _Atrast nal tunsha_ , my friends. May you always find your way in the dark." 

With that, we head for the surface again, making our way out through the Hall of Heroes and through the big mountain gates. 

As we step out into the cool mountain sunlight, Oghren stops and looks up at the sky, taking in a deep breath. "Give me a moment." 

I nod, and say, "Maker, am I glad to be out here again myself. If I never set foot in the Deep Roads again, it will be too soon." 

"Indeed," Morrigan agrees. 

"All that sodding sky up there," Oghren says. "You hear about the surface, down below, but they can't tell you how _big_ it really is." 

"You alright, Oghren?" Rispy asks. "I know it was disorienting at first for me, too." 

"Of course I'm alright," Oghren says. "This is nothing. I've won fights before while I was so drunk that I couldn't even count how many people I was actually fighting." 

"One might be surprised that you can count at all even while sober," Morrigan comments. 

"Bah, shut your mouth, woman," Oghren says. 

"Alright," I say, pulling out my map. "Our next stop is this little village up in the mountains south of here. Hmm, what's the best way to get there..." 

"Flying," Gellert says. "Why did we not bring along any sort of flying transport?" 

"You know I hate to fly," I say. 

"Then why do you wish to turn into a dragon?" Morrigan says. "And you seem to enjoy flying around as a bird." 

"That's different," I say. "That's flying by my own power. I don't trust any sort of enchanted flying objects like broomsticks or flying carpets." 

"I can understand the carpets, but why would anyone wish to ride a _broom_?" Wynne wonders. "I would think that would be most uncomfortable." 

"What about riding griffons?" asks Leliana. "The ancient Grey Wardens of legend used to ride upon the backs of griffons into battle. But sadly, they have gone extinct since the last Blight." 

"If the Grey Wardens had domesticated griffons and were keeping and breeding them for riding, why would they go extinct?" I wonder. 

"Or perhaps they are not truly extinct after all," Leliana says. "Why, dragons were believed to be extinct too, up until thirty years ago, when a high dragon was suddenly sighted during the Battle of the River Dane. It rampaged through the Orlesian forces, allowing Loghain a decisive victory against the occupying army." 

"And unless Lexen can suddenly turn into a dragon despite his failures at doing so thus far," Morrigan says, "we will not be flying to this village on the back of a dragon, either." 

"We're walking," I say with a smirk. 

"Then let's get going," Oghren says. "We're -- how do you say it up here? -- wasting daylight." 

We set off across the Frostback Mountains. It's refreshing being out in the open air again, but more than that, it's a massive relief to not be constantly around so many darkspawn. It's like I was wearing heavy armor all through the Deep Roads, and only now was able to take it off and move freely again. 

I shift into the form of a crow to scout the trail ahead. For all that I hate flying, I think that I really love _flying_. Now that I can actually manage it without face-planting, at least. Or beak-planting, as the case may be. 

I return to the group and resume human form. "Alright, we're heading this way. We'll head south to Sulcher's Pass, and then cut through to the village of Haven." 

"I just hope Arl Eamon's condition hasn't gotten any worse," Alistair says. 

"Kirlin or Bethany would have sent us a message if anything had changed," I say. 

"I still want to know why you're even trying to help him if you're such a big Loghain supporter," Alistair says. 

"I'm not a 'big Loghain supporter'," I say. 

"You certainly could have fooled me," Alistair says. 

"Honestly, I'm more _curious_ about this mysterious mountain village as anything else," I say. "I have no idea whether the Urn of Sacred Ashes might even be there or not, but the implications seemed to be that it was." 

"Your curiosity is sending us on this errand into the middle of nowhere and away from the Blight?" Sten says. 

"If we are successful, this venture could gain us new allies against the darkspawn," I say. "And if the Urn is there and truly does have healing powers, that also might be a potent aid. Alternatively, even if it doesn't, it could get the Chantry on our side." 

"Indeed," Leliana says. "If we were to find the ashes of Andraste, it would certainly rally the Chantry to our cause." 

"I have spoken my mind," Sten says. "I will trust in your judgment, Stormseeker." 

"You know, I think I missed something," Oghren says. "I have no idea what this all is that you're talking about, where we're going, or why. And I don't think I care, either. Point me at something to kill." 


	31. Andraste

On our way up Sulcher's Pass, we come upon a traveling merchant on the road. After complaining a bit about a lost mule, he seems quite eager to part with a golem control rod. 

"A control rod?" I say with a scowl. "What, did you intend to get yourself a nice stone slave?" 

"Ah, well, it seemed like a golem might be useful," the merchant says. "But unfortunately, the golem didn't come with the rod. It's supposed to be located in a village down to the south, but the place is overrun with darkspawn now. No way I'm going to be getting there myself. But you're Grey Wardens, you said. A few darkspawn shouldn't be a problem to you, right?" 

"I'm not going to go practicing golem slavery," I say. "I would prefer to go and liberate this poor golem." 

"Well, that's your business. You'll need the control rod even to wake it up, though. I care little what you do with it after that. I just don't want to keep lugging something around that might attract bandits." 

"Fine," I say. "I'm not afraid of bandits or darkspawn. I suppose I'd best make sure that this control rod doesn't wind up falling into the wrong hands, anyway. How much did you want for it?" 

"Absolutely nothing," the merchant says. "I just want it out of my hands. I don't even know if it will work or not." 

"And this thing isn't cursed or something?" Gellert says. "You seem awfully eager to be rid of it just for the sake of 'avoiding bandits'." 

"No, of course not!" the merchant says. "Or at least, I don't think so. It certainly feels like a curse, hauling it around uselessly, after how much I paid for it." 

"How much did you pay for it?" I ask. 

"Thirty sovereigns, it was. A good deal, I thought, for a golem, no? Turns out not to have been such a good deal after all." 

"Tom, can you check and make sure it's not cursed and is actually what he claims it is?" I say. Tom nods, and I start counting out coins. 

After carefully examining the rod, Tom says, "I can't detect any curses or anything, and it seems similar to the one Branka used." 

"You want to pay me for it?" the merchant says. "I'm not asking anything. I was just going to take it as a loss for a foolish investment. But I suppose I can't complain if you want to give me gold." 

"Fair's fair," I say, passing over the coins to him. 

"How do you always have so much money?" Alistair wonders. 

"I teleport shipments of Tevinter blood wine to Val Royeaux every day," I reply. 

"Alright, now you're just making things up," Alistair says with a smirk. 

"Let me mark the location of the village the golem is supposed to be on your map," the merchant says. "A little spot to the south called Honnleath. Go there and speak the command words 'dulef gar', and the golem should wake up." 

He points out the location, and I frown. "I can see why you wouldn't want to go there." It's a fair ways south of Redcliffe, deep within darkspawn held territory. "Maybe we'll check it out once we're done with our current mission." 

* * *

After several days of travel, we finally arrive at the village of Haven. Conifers line the path leading up into the village, and snow is gently falling from the icy gray sky. 

A guard stops us as we approach. "What are you doing here, strangers? You should not be in Haven." 

"Ah, good, so this _is_ Haven," I say. "For a moment there I was worried we'd gotten lost, or that Jasper had sent us on a wild dragon chase." 

The guard scowls. "What did you do to Jasper to make him give up our location?" 

"Allow me to introduce myself," I say. "I am Lexen Chelseer, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood. We have come to pay our respects to Andraste." 

If anything, the guard's scowl only deepens. "I do not know what Jasper told you, but we do not appreciate outsiders poking about our home. You may trade at the shop if you wish, but then I suggest that you lot leave as quickly as possible." 

"Who is your leader?" I ask. 

"Revered Father Eirik leads us and guides us in spiritual matters." 

"A revered father?" Alistair says. "Priests are supposed to be women, though." 

"That is our tradition. It is hardly my problem if it differs from the traditions of the lowlands." 

"Where is he?" I ask. "I would like to speak with him." 

"He is busy tending to the flock at the moment. You should not disturb him." 

"Well, let's check out your shop, at least," I say, moving on. 

"Perhaps not the warmest welcome," Rispy says once we're out of earshot. 

"There's definitely something odd about this place," Alistair says. 

"Alright, everyone," I say. "Split up and look around. Carefully." 

Along with Tom, Gellert, and Rispy, I head up to the village Chantry to see about locating this revered father the guard mentioned. The town is nearly deserted as we pass through, and it seems like the entire village must be inside the Chantry. The priest is preaching at the moment, and politely I stand in the back of the room quietly and listen for a bit as he goes on for a bit about how blessed and chosen they are. 

It doesn't take the priest long to notice us, and end the sermon prematurely, sending the villagers on their way. "Now I must see to our honored guests." 

"I apologize," I say. "We did not mean to interrupt." 

"It's for the best, perhaps," Eirik says. "The villagers tend to be uncomfortable around strangers." 

"So I have noticed," I say. "So then I won't be a stranger. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lexen Chelseer, Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood." 

"Indeed?" Eirik says. "And what does that title mean?" 

"According to legend, my family is descended from dragons," I say. "I don't know whether it's true or not, but it _is_ true that my blood holds the same properties as dragon's blood." 

"And why have you come to our peaceful village?" Eirik says. "We do not like outsiders here." 

"I came to pay my respects to Andraste," I say. 

"You have come a long way for something you could have done in any Chantry," Eirik says. 

"I was led to believe that the Urn of Sacred Ashes is here," I say. 

"You've come all this way seeking a myth?" Eirik says. "No, there is nothing that you will find here." 

"Really?" I say. "Jasper seemed to think otherwise. Not that he was willing to tell me much." 

"He should not have told you anything at all," Eirik says. "No, you know too much. You will bring others here, and you will bring war upon Haven. I cannot allow that. You understand, I'm sure. A man must protect his family." 

The armed men around us hardly get a chance to move before Tom and Gellert hit them with Stunning Spells. Father Eirik blinks as I entangle him in ropes. 

"I'm shocked," I say to my companions. "You didn't just kill them." 

"If you want me to, I'll be happy to oblige," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Eirik demands. 

I snort softly. " _You_ were the ones who tried to kill us. Even a grandmotherly mage would say nothing about killing you for that, aside from, perhaps, how unfortunate it was that you were obviously suicidal." 

"What do you want, stranger?" Eirik says. 

"I introduced myself," I say. "There's no need to keep calling me 'stranger'. And I've already told you what I came here for. The way you act, it seems like you're trying to hide something here that you know most outsiders aren't going to approve of. I'll tell you right now, however, that I'm _not_ most outsiders. And I haven't come all this way to just give up and go home, nor are you just going to kill us, either. So how about we just talk like civilized people, instead?" 

"I will tell you nothing!" Eirik says. 

I sigh and roll my eyes, then glance aside to Tom. "I don't suppose you'd care to help here. _You_ know what's going on, after all." 

Tom gives a crooked grin. "Now, now, that would be cheating. I'm more interested to see if you can figure it out on your own." 

I chuckle. "This had better be good." 

"Consider it a surprise birthday present," Tom says. 

"Uh, guys?" Rispy says. "It looks like there's a hidden door here." 

"Don't go in there!" Eirik says. 

"You're not really in any position where you can stop us," I say. "Rispy, watch him." 

Rispy gives a nod and stands watch with a blade pointed at Eirik as the rest of us go to look into the hidden side room. There's an older man laying on the floor in the room, looking somewhat worse for wear. 

The man groans as I approach. "Did they send you to finish me off finally?" 

"No," I say. "I'm just here to help. My name is Lexen. Are you Brother Genitivi, by chance?" 

"I am. You have no idea how glad I am to see you. I've been here for so long, and I can't feel my leg anymore." 

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," I say, bending down to take a look at his leg. "Ugh, this is beyond my skill to heal. Tom?" 

Tom shakes his head, working a little magic through it. "That'll help a bit, but we'll need Wynne to examine it. She's the better healer." 

I hand Genitivi a bit of food, and says, "Here, help you get your strength back. You'll need to rest and recover. But tell me, _did_ you find the Urn?" 

"Yes!" Genitivi says, nibbling gratefully upon the food. "It's just up this mountain, hidden inside a temple that was built to protect it. You'll need the medallion that their revered father Eirik wears to get in, however. It's actually a key." 

I give a nod, and say, "I'll be right back." I step back out into the main room and tell Eirik, "I'm afraid I'll need this." I remove his medallion and return to Genitivi. "This the one you meant?" 

"Yes," Genitivi says. "Take me up to the mountain and I will show you how to get in." 

"Can you even walk with that leg, never mind climb a mountain?" I wonder. 

"I can endure a little pain for the sake of finding the Urn," Genitivi says. 

I shake my head. "No, stay here for the moment. We'll regroup with our companions and have our healer take a look at you, and make sure the route is safe. Then we'll head up to this temple with you, alright." 

Genitivi nods, and I head back out to the main room to stand before Father Eirik. My companions are starting to make their way into the Chantry as well. 

"So, what did you find?" I ask them. 

"There was a little boy reciting an interesting rhyme," Leliana says. 

"We found the body of one of the knights of Redcliffe," Alistair says, making a face. "Murdered, dismembered, and shoved away in the back room of the shop." 

"We came upon an altar that looked like it might have been used for blood sacrifices," Zevran says. 

"And then suddenly everyone started attempting to kill us," Morrigan drawls. 

"You have no respect for people's privacy," Eirik says. 

"Oh, yes, you're a very violently private people," I comment. "Killing any outsiders who show up isn't going to make people go away. It's just going to make more show up to find out what happened to the last ones who came here. You'd have done better to pretend to be a quiet little mountain town that _doesn't_ randomly slaughter anyone that wanders in." 

"Although if you're looking for lessons on how not to appear crazy, Lexen perhaps is not the best person to ask," Gellert says. 

I smirk, and gesture to Wynne. "Brother Genitivi is in the next room, and hurt. Can you take a look at him?" 

"I'll see what I can do," Wynne says, going back to the other room. 

"Andraste will strike you down," Eirik snarls. "You will see, you fools. You shall see!" 

"If you're not going to say anything useful, I'm just going to leave you here," I say. "Tied up, and unconscious." I point at him and think _Stupefy_ , and a flash of red light strikes him. He slumps to the floor. 

"I would have just killed him," Zevran says. "But you seem to have a habit of taking prisoners. To which I am eternally grateful, mind you." 

"These people don't seem to be any sort of Andrasteans I've ever seen," Leliana says. 

"They call themselves the Disciples of Andraste," Genitivi says, stumbling into the room and leaning heavily on Wynne. Alistair goes over and relieves Wynne of the burden. "They seemed quite fanatical, as I'm sure you've already seen." 

We head out of the Chantry and up the mountain. Genitivi can't move very fast, but at least we don't have too far to go. The mountainside is frigid, and snow covers the path. I'm more than a little tempted to cast a Warming Charm. 

"Here, let me see the medallion," Genitivi says, and I hand it over to him. "Yes, it opens up... just like so," he says, manipulating it with his hands. "There are not many keys like this left in the world. There we go." 

The door opens, and we step inside. The massive temple glistens with ice, although it's clear that it must have been beautiful before it was frozen over and half-ruined. 

"For all their fanaticism, they haven't really cared for this place very well, have they," I comment. 

"Imagine what I could learn from this place," Genitivi says. "All these carvings! They could reveal so much about the life of Andraste!" 

"What about the Urn?" I say. "Don't you want to see it?" 

"I can't move very fast and I'd only slow you down," Genitivi says. "I can content myself with seeing it second, after you've made sure the path is clear." 

"Alright," I say. "Zevran, Sten, Oghren, stay here and make sure no harm comes to Genitivi." 

"By that, you mean kill any of those crazies that bother us," Oghren says. "Got it." 

The rest of us move on and make our way through the old temple. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the people inside are less than friendly. Even the unarmed ones that we come across attack us on sight with their bare hands. 

"So, you want to be extra polite here?" Gellert says wryly. "Stun them and cast a Warming Charm on them so they don't freeze to death?" 

"Now you're just making fun of me," I say. 

We fight our way through the temple. I had really hoped to recruit these people as allies, if at all possible, but I suppose it was too much to hope for. 

"For all that they claim to follow Andraste, they certainly don't seem to see the need to send their mages to the Circle," Wesley observes as he smites another enemy mage. 

"And what _are_ these things, even?" Rispy says, slicing at a monster that seems to be entirely made up of a gigantic, twisted mouth. 

"Some sort of demon, I'm guessing," I say. 

"Andraste would never have condoned demon summoning, either," Leliana says. 

Further on, we come to a series of frigid caverns beneath the temple. As we make our way through, I hear a strange reptilian sound, and a young dragon scurries into view, hissing at us. Another dragonling follows it, then another, and they dart in to attack. 

"Dragons? Here?" I say, eyes widening. "Stop!" I snap at my companions. "Whatever you do, _do not_ harm the dragons!" 

"You can tell them to stop trying to gnaw on me, then!" Alistair says. 

I put my wand away and hold out my hands gently toward the creatures and speak to them like children. "It's alright, little guys. Calm down. We're not going to hurt you." 

"We've already hurt a good number of their caretakers, though," Gellert points out. 

"Well, I'm sorry, little ones, I didn't realize," I say. "Would you like something to eat?" I pull out some dried meat from my bag. "How about some meat? Some tasty, tasty meat for beautiful little dragonlings, yes yes?" 

The young dragons have turned their full attention toward me now, and aren't trying to hurt my companions anymore, at least. Wynne sighs and heals the group of bite marks. 

Another group of cultists comes around the corner, looking ready to attack for a moment, until they see the dragonlings practically fawning over me. Or the other way around, really. They stop and stare at me in confusion. 

"Kill them!" barks the leader of the group of cultists, finally deciding on what needs to be done. 

When we return the cultists' attacks, the dragonlings start attacking us again. 

"Oh come on," I say. "Don't make me hurt dragons!" 

Tom, Gellert, and I start knocking the dragonlings out with Stunning Spells. I'm less eager to kill the humans now, but they do seem overly eager to kill us, and don't have the excuse of not knowing any better that the dragonlings may have. 

"Alright, moment has passed, I'm going back to calling you insane again," Rispy says. 

"Lexen, doesn't your wand have a core of dragon heartstring?" Gellert asks. 

"Uh... yeah," I reply. 

"Being hypocritical again?" Tom says with a crooked grin. 

"But they're just _little_ dragons," I say. "They're babies! The big ones at least can defend themselves." 

"These ones can defend themselves quite well already, themselves," Morrigan mutters. 

Further on, we finally come upon a small group of cultists that don't attack us on sight, and instead opt to stand in our way and threaten us. 

"Halt! No further for you." 

"The ones behind us didn't do very well at stopping us," I say. "Who are you, and why do you think you're going to be any different?" 

"I am Father Kolgrim, the leader of the Disciples of Andraste. You have defiled our temple, slaughtered the faithful, butchered our young!" 

"We were quite careful not to harm any of the dragonlings," I say. "They wouldn't stop attacking us, so we had to stun them, but they'll be fine." 

"You... did not kill any of Andraste's children?" Kolgrim says. 

I look at him in confusion. "Well, last I heard, Andraste wasn't a dragon..." 

"The prophet Andraste has overcome death itself, and has been reborn into a form more glorious than you could imagine!" Kolgrim says. "No one will be able to slay her now, not even the Tevinter Imperium!" 

"Andraste has been reborn as a dragon?" I say, eyes widening. "Awesome!" 

"He speaks madness," Wynne says. "Do not let him lead you astray." 

"I do not like this at all," Leliana says. 

"Why are you so dubious?" I ask them. "I don't know whether it's true, but it is _entirely_ within the realm of possibility. Reincarnation happens -- I know that as a fact. And I've seen people reborn as different races, different species. Even as dragons. Would you believe that dwarf we helped take the throne in Orzammar was a dragon in another life?" 

"I think Rispy has a point," Alistair says. "You're sounding as insane as they are." 

"Look," I say, turning back to Kolgrim. "I had no idea of the truth of this place. Your people were not exactly forthcoming, and quite determined to try to keep me out. Had Father Eirik told me in the first place, or even given the slightest hint, if everyone hadn't been trying to kill me, then I would not have had to kill anyone in here." 

"You intruded upon sacred ground and violated the halls of the faithful," Kolgrim says. "No apology will wipe away the blood you have spilled. And yet... perhaps there is something you can do to atone for your sins." 

"Ask," I say. 

"Beyond here lies the Urn in which rest Andraste's mortal remains," Kolgrim explains. "But there is a guardian who will not allow us to pass. I want you to take a vial of holy Andraste's blood and pour it into the ashes, in order to reclaim her full power." 

"That's blood magic!" Leliana says. "Oh, how awful!" 

"This sounds like a _really_ bad idea," Alistair says. 

"I'll do it," I say. 

"Lexen, I believe your fondness for dragons is clouding your judgment," Wynne says. 

"If you do this for us, I shall award you a great gift, and show you how to unlock the power in blood," Kolgrim says. He pulls out a vial of blood from somewhere and hands it to me. "I shall go and speak with the holy Andraste so that she may allow you to pass safely." 

"Lexen, you can't do this," Leliana says. "How could you defile a sacred relic like this?" 

"I'm sure that he would not do such a thing," Wesley says. "Surely this is merely a deception in order to allow us safe passage past the dragon." 

"I suppose I'll just have to believe that..." Leliana says quietly. 

We head out of the cavern and out into the open air on the mountaintop. A piercing shriek splits the crisp mountain air, along with the sound of wingbeats. I look up, squinting against the sunlight, as the silhouette of a dragon crosses the sun. A magnificent high dragon, all grace and majesty, with beautiful violet scales. Every angle, every line, every curve, is sheer perfection. 

"So... beautiful," I whisper, falling to my knees before the sight of her. 

"Hmm," Gellert says. "That would make for some nice armor. And potions ingredients. And wands." 

"Shut up, Gellert," I say, smirking and climbing to my feet. 

Thankfully, the dragon was too far away to hear him. As we approach the entrance to the far building, she flies down to land in our path. Kolgrim kneels before her, and begs her to allow her champions to pass. After several long moments in which I have to wonder if she's going to eat him after all, she turns and flies back up onto a ledge overhead. 

"You may pass into the inner sanctum," Kolgrim says. 

"She is magnificent," I say, gazing up at the dragon. Tom grins and chuckles in amusement, but says nothing. 

"Indeed she is," Kolgrim says. "Go now, and show yourselves to be Andraste's champions. Once your task is accomplished, there will be much celebration." 

We head inside, and Leliana says quietly, "Alright, I can see why you would deceive him. I certainly do not wish to fight that dragon." 

"Let's go and find this Urn," Rispy says. "And whatever other loot we can scrounge up along the way." 

"Now you're talking," Gellert says. "I'm quite interested in what sort of power he was talking about, though. It's a pity we didn't learn anything from the Anvil, but hopefully I'll get a chance to talk to Caridin later." 

"He was speaking of blood magic," Wesley says. "You should put it out of your mind. It is not something any good Circle mage should get involved in." 

"Right, of course," Gellert replies, looking away from Wesley and rolling his eyes. He flicks up a privacy spell and murmurs, "Is there some reason why we're dragging that damned templar around, anyway?" 

"It would not be a problem if you were a little more discreet," I say. 

"I shouldn't _have_ to be, is the problem," Gellert says. 

"If you are going to speak in front of me without me being able to hear what you're saying, you could be a little less obvious about it," Wesley comments. 

I remove the spell, and say, "Sorry. Gellert just thinks your wife is hot--" 

"I'm _gay_!" Gellert says. 

"Sorry, Gellert thinks _you_ are hot--" 

"Lexen!" Gellert snaps. 

"I think I do not wish to hear any more of this," Wesley says with a sigh. 

"That's what I get for all the dragon comments," Gellert mutters. 


	32. Ashes

Up the stairs and down the corridor, we come upon an armored man standing guard in front of another door. He speaks in a faintly echoing voice, as of a spirit, "Pilgrims, I bid you welcome." 

"We have come to pay our respects to Andraste," I say. 

"You must prove your worth in the Gauntlet," the guardian says. "Face the tests of faith, determine whether or not you are true pilgrims, and we shall see the truth in your soul." 

That makes me a little uneasy. "Well. So be it, then." 

"If your heart is true, there is no need to be afraid," the guardian says. "I see much suffering in your past. Yours, and that of others." 

"What do you know of my past?" I say, narrowing my eyes at him. 

"Do you believe that you failed Cassie?" the guardian asks. "She chose to reject the gifts you offered. She rejected immortality--" 

I growl. "Do _not_ speak to me of Cassie!" 

"Very well," the guardian says. "And what of those that follow you?" He turns to Rispy, and says, "Rispy Brosca, do you believe that you made a mistake in choosing to follow your companions? Do you wonder if Lexen's path will truly lead you toward your own goals? Or do you simply follow him blindly, even if it hurts those you care about?" 

"Of course I wonder, sometimes," Rispy says. "I think he's fucking insane, sometimes. But he's a man, and I know perfectly well that while he makes his own mistakes, his intentions and motivations are good." 

The guardian turns to Gellert and says, "And you, Gellert Amell, Gellert Grindelwald. Do you--" 

"Yes, I know what my regrets are," Gellert says, waving his hand sharply. "I wish I hadn't accidentally killed my lover's little sister. I wish I hadn't started a war in the name of the 'greater good'. I wish my own former lover hadn't had to stop me. Are you happy now?" 

The guardian tilts his head, and then looks to Tom. "Thomas Hawke, Tom Marvolo Riddle, Voldemort, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and man of many names. Once a Dark Lord, scourge of a generation, now you subvert your desires to the will and whims of the one to whom your soul is now bound. Do you ever question what your yearning for immortality has led you to? Do you care for Lexen only so far as to ensure your continued existence? Do you feel jealous or hurt of his inability to let go of Cassie?" 

Tom snorts softly. "I'm immortal in such a way that I didn't have to pay the price of my sanity for it. And I'm still free to do whatever I choose. Would I be so foolish as to complain of my situation? And do only care about him to use him? Don't be ridiculous. I _do_ love him. And whoever or whatever else he chooses to care about has no bearing upon that." 

"Wesley Vallen," the guardian says. "Lexen saved your life, and for that, you believe that he was sent by the Maker. Do you think him the equal of Andraste, then? Or has what you have seen since then made you begin to doubt the origin of your salvation?" 

"I don't know," Wesley says quietly, looking to me. "That is all that I can say. I don't know." 

The guardian turns to each of the others in turn and asks them piercing questions of their own. Once he is done, he allows us to pass, finally. 

"There are many questions that I could ask of you," Wynne says quietly. "But I shall not." 

"That spirit should not have brought up private thoughts in front of everyone," Leliana says. 

"Thank you," I say, sighing. "I know I have kept many secrets, but it has not been without good reason." 

In the next hall, there are rows of ghosts lined up, each of them asking a riddle of us. It reminds me of the time I spent in Ravenclaw House, and all the riddles I had to answer just to get back to my dorm. Once we have correctly answered all of their questions, the door at the far end of the hall opens for us. 

Beyond the door, a woman stands, facing away from me. I approach, and don't see who she is until she turns toward me and looks at me with Cassie's face. Cassie's dark eyes, shining with a light that they will never see again, and yet that they will always see. 

"You are not Cassie," I say quietly. 

Cassie laughs lightly, her voice like silver bells. "Of course I would not have fooled you. But I _am_ Cassie, in a way. I am also you, part of you, and you a part of me. I am thought, I am memory, I am eternity." 

I let out a ragged sigh. "Whatever you are, I miss you terribly." 

"Then why is it that you refuse to talk about me?" Cassie says. "You refuse to even think about me most of the time." 

"You said to seek you in eternity," I say. "But I don't know how to deal with eternity. I don't know how to deal with the fact that you are not there, but you are always there. That I can always and never be with you again. That I could go and take another you with me, but it would not really be you, but it _would_ still be you, just not the same you with the same memories. A thousand reflections of a shattered soul..." 

"Not everyone can deal with eternity," Cassie says. "Perhaps people were not meant to live forever." 

"I refuse to believe that," I say. "There is no meaning to existence. There is no grand plan. There is no fate but what we make." 

"And yet, even so, I chose a mortal life," Cassie says. "I was happy with that. And yet you, even you, immortal Time Mage who cannot die, still cannot deal with eternity. What is the answer? How many memories can build up in your mind and soul before you cannot handle them any further? You are falling apart, Lexen. You will destroy yourself if you keep at things like this, and yet you still cannot die. What hope can you bring to a thousand worlds when you cannot carry any yourself?" 

The spirit glows for a moment, and then wisps into nothingness and vanishes before my eyes. I stare at the floor, my body trembling. "Cassie..." I whisper. 

A firm hand on my shoulder, and I glance up to see Tom's face, looking at me with concern, and he squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. I don't know if the others heard any of that, and right now, I really don't care. 

I take a deep breath, and press my eyes shut for a long moment. Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun. 

I don't know how much it really helps, but at least I'm able to continue, and move on into the next room. Here I come face to face with... myself. Grinning at me, bloodthisty and wild-eyed. 

"This is a bit more literal than symbolic, isn't it?" I comment. 

"Would you prefer that I be attacking you?" the other me replies. 

"Not really," I say. "And what pithy revelations of my inner nature do _you_ have for me? Am I supposed to be facing myself? Acknowledging my weaknesses? Or what?" 

"Nah," the other me says. "We're pretty good at acknowledging our weaknesses. Not so good about doing anything about it, but I suppose it's a start." 

"So what's the point of this?" I ask. 

"You know you have a problem when your greatest desire and your greatest fear are one and the same?" the other me says. "We seek knowledge, but more than that, we seek power. We would think to become a god. And yet the idea terrifies us. Why is that?" 

"Because... I don't know that I would trust even myself with that sort of power," I reply. 

"And yet we seek it anyway. And should it come to pass? Then what?" 

"I don't know," I say. 

"And that is our biggest problem. We are aimless, drifting on the waves, pointing vaguely toward a distant star whose nature we do not even begin to understand. And what's to be done when we learn that the sea curves away and the world bends beneath our hull, and that we cannot reach that star by sailing, but by flying?" 

"Huh?" I say, looking into my mirror's piercing green eyes in confusion. 

"We fear to fly," says the other me. "To soar upon the sky, to touch only air, to let the winds move past us without changing us. And yet instead, we delve into the world, changing it even as it changes us. You obsess over what-ifs and might-have-beens, to the point where you cannot see where you are even going. But does any of it really matter? The seas of eternity are changeless." 

I sigh and rub my eyes. "You are obviously the part of me that enjoys pretentious, nonsensical metaphors." 

"Would you prefer I just attack you? That would be symbolic of something or other, wouldn't it?" 

I imagine that the others must be facing people from their pasts and versions of themselves as well, having to answer hard questions and look into their hearts, or some such. I have to wonder what they are seeing right now. I particularly wonder what the dog might be experiencing. Does Andraste have many canine devotees? 

"I don't think that will be necessary," I say with a shrug. "I have no particular desire to destroy myself." 

My double chuckles. "Whether we destroy ourselves or not is entirely our own choice, is it not? Very well. Go on." 

In the next room, my companions and I have to pass a puzzle that obviously requires cooperation, probably to symbolize trust and loyalty and some such. Then, beyond that, a wall of flame blocks the way through the final chamber. An inscription on the altar tells us to cast off the trappings of the mortal world and clothe ourselves in goodness and faith. 

"Well, I guess it's time to get naked," I say lightly, going to strip off my robes. 

"I could have gone this entire trip without seeing all of you in the nude," Alistair comments. 

"What, is the almost-templar a prude?" Gellert says. 

I don't wait for the others to finish stripping. If this isn't going to work, I'd rather find out for myself than risk my companions to it. When I stride through the flames, they only tickle and feel a little warm, as though from a Flame-Freezing Charm. 

"You have passed the trials of the Gauntlet and proven yourself worthy," the guardian says, appearing out of nowhere. "You may approach the ashes." 

"Great," I say. "But can I put my clothes back on first?" 

"Yes, can he please put his clothes back on?" Alistair says. 

"You may," the guardian says. 

The flames conveniently vanish, and I go to get dressed again, and the others put back on what they'd managed to remove already. We approach the urn at the far end of the room, up a set of stairs and on a raised platform. 

"It is a great honor to be here," Wesley says, kneeling before the urn. "To be able to lay my eyes upon Andraste's final resting place..." Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair murmur in awe as well. 

Morrigan snorts softly. "I care not for your religion, but there is powerful magic here. Hopefully it will be worth the trouble it was to get here." 

Gellert nods in agreement. "This is an extremely powerful node. Was this entire temple built upon a massive lyrium vein or something?" 

I pull out a pouch, and collect a bit of the ashes into it. "And if this doesn't cure Arl Eamon, I can't imagine what will." 

I put the pouch of ashes away and glance aside at the others. Some of them almost seem to be praying. I don't know why they would find this pot of holy dirt to be more impressive than the mighty dragon outside. I bring out the vial of dragon's blood and pour it into the urn. 

Leliana's eyes widen in shock. "No! How could you do such a thing?" 

"May Andraste reborn reclaim her power," I say, grinning broadly. 

"The ashes!" the guardian says, brandishing a mace. "Andraste must be avenged!" 

Wesley unsheathes his sword. "I had thought you walked with the Maker. I was proud to fight by your side. But now I see what kind of monster you really are. I will not allow you to get away with this crime!" 

"Nor shall I," Wynne says, her hands glowing blue. 

"I knew it was a bad idea to let you go through with this," Alistair says. 

Tom, Gellert, Rispy, Morrigan, Padfoot, and I wind up facing off against Wesley, Aveline, Leliana, Wynne, and the guardian, with Alistair standing off to the side staring at us in horror. 

I'm horrified myself. Wesley hits me with a templar smite and drains my mana away before I can even really accept that I'm fighting my former friends. Rispy stabs him in a weak spot in his armor, distracting him and giving me a chance to pull out a lyrium potion and drink it down. Wynne heals every injury that my group manages to inflict, however. 

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Gellert casts. The flash of green light seems to move in slow motion as Wynne narrowly avoids it, and it moves past her to strike Morrigan instead. She slumps to the ground, lifeless. _Fuck!_

" _FULGORIS!_ " I shriek, blasting my enemies with a massive burst of electricity. I fight blindly, focusing on nothing but ending the battle until no one is left attacking me. Five bodies lay on the floor. 

"Oh, Maker..." Alistair breathes. 

"Fuck..." I murmur, falling to my knees and shaking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... I didn't think... I didn't think they'd actually... fuck..." 

"I'm sorry," Gellert says quietly, looking to Morrigan's body. "I was trying to end it quickly..." 

"Was this a mistake, Lexen?" Tom asks gently. "You can still fix this." 

"Alistair..." I say softly. "Can you handle this on your own? The Blight?" 

"What are you talking about?" Alistair wonders. 

"I am going to commit suicide," I say, pulling out my bag of holding and tossing it over to him. 

"That's... You don't have to do that, Lexen," Alistair says. "This was bad, yes, but we can move on. We can still stop the Blight." 

"I'm a time traveler," I say. "If I kill myself now, I will go back in time to when I woke up this morning. I can avert this. These people don't have to die." 

"You-- Wait, what?" Alistair says. 

"That's the big secret I've been trying to keep from you all," I say. "I can stop this. They... They don't have to die." 

"And Alistair will be left to stop the Blight on his own," Gellert says. "With the help of Sten, Oghren, and Zevran." Padfoot barks. "And a dog. Oh, that's not doomed or anything." 

"What about the rest of you?" Alistair wonders. 

"Our souls are bound to his," Tom explains. "Where he goes, so do we." 

"So is this what you all do?" Alistair says. "You erase all of your mistakes so that you will never have to deal with the consequences?" 

"I've dealt with the consequences of far more mistakes than you could possibly imagine," I say bitterly, slumping. "Although I must say I'm a little surprised that you didn't attack me, too." 

Alistair shakes his head. "You're a fellow Grey Warden. Fighting the Blight is the priority, no matter what else happens that we may personally disagree with." 

I stare at the bodies before me. "They had such faith in me, and I betrayed that faith, didn't I. I could look at it like they betrayed me, but it was really the other way around, wasn't it." 

"You... did just defile the most holy relic of their religion, yes," Alistair says softly. 

"And then there were all those people we killed on the way here," I say. "Was their no way _their_ deaths could have been averted, too? Maybe, had things gone a little differently, I would have been able to gain their aid against the Blight. Instead, we killed... so many of them. Just because they were defending their home. Defending their sacred charge." 

"Maybe I should have explained it to you before we came here," Tom says quietly. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I knew you'd be ecstatic when you saw the dragons." 

I sigh, and climb to my feet slowly and shakily. "Perhaps that double of me back in the Gauntlet was right. I obsess over what-ifs and might-have-beens. But those are the entirety of my existence. Everything rests upon the smallest of actions causing things to turn out radically differently. I don't believe in luck. Everything always happens the same, unless one of us changes it. But sometimes the outcome of our actions cannot be predicted." 

"I predict that there's no way Alistair will be able to stop the Blight with the group he'd have without us," Gellert says. 

"Your faith in me is quite reassuring," Alistair says dryly. 

I shake my head. "Gellert is right. I can't abandon you to this. I... have a duty. I have a responsibility." I lightly touch Wynne's forehead. "I'm sorry, my friends. I may return for you another time." 

I pick up my bag of holding from the floor with a sigh and put it back in my pocket, and then grimly start to loot the bodies of my fallen comrades. My hands won't stop shaking as I do so, and my stomach roils in my gut. Tom and Gellert bend over to help with that, to get the macabre task completed more quickly. When that is done, I head outside to meet with Kolgrim again. 

"You have done it!" Kolgrim exclaims. "I can feel it, the weight that has lifted here, the power that has returned to Andraste! What you have done here will forever change the world! Although, there seem to be fewer of you than who went inside." 

"They... disagreed with my decision," I say. "Violently. We-- We killed them." 

"I see," Kolgrim says. "Let such a fate befall all of those who would oppose the will of Andraste! We shall prepare our initiation ceremony for those of you who proved faithful." 

They bring forth a cup of blood that bears entirely too much resemblance to the one used in the Joining for comfort. Upon seeing that, Alistair says, "Forgive me, but I think I will prefer to pass on participating in this ceremony." 

I've gone this far. I might as well see just what the blood of my friends has bought for me. I take a drink from the cup, of burning, bitter blood. My head spins, and I collapse, shuddering. 

It's not so painful as the Joining, however. While I see visions of a dragon in my mind, they're pure, clean, an _uncorrupted_ dragon. And with it come memories, valuable knowledge. 

"How do you feel, brother?" Kolgrim says. 

"A little dizzy," I reply. 

"The knowledge of our forefathers is being passed to you," Kolgrim says. "You will forever be one of us, no matter where you go." 

"So, Father Kolgrim," Alistair says with forced politeness. "I don't suppose there's any chance that you might help with the Blight? Those of you who we didn't kill, anyway..." 

"The darkspawn are the Maker's punishment for a wicked world," Kolgrim says. "Let them ravage the land! Let them be the scourge that wipes the world clean and purges all of its sins! When all has been destroyed, we will rise up from the ashes and build a new nation in Andraste's name!" 

"Right, I'll take that as a no, then," Alistair says. "Good to know." 

So they would never have helped against the Blight after all, unless I managed to do some miraculous convincing somehow. This was all a terrible mistake. 

"Be that as it may," I say, "we need to be taking our leave now. There are people waiting for us, and we're expected elsewhere." 

Kolgrim nods. "Go with Andraste's blessing, brothers." 

With heavy steps, I trudge back down the mountain to meet the others where we left them at the entrance to the temple. I feel like the full weight of that mountain is bearing down upon my shoulders. As we go, I cast a long look back toward the high dragon resting on the ledge above. On a whim, I cast a Naming Charm silently. In my mind's eye, a name appears: _Iyaza_. 

Perhaps Andraste has a new name in this life. Or perhaps this is not truly Andraste at all. I have no way of finding out. Whether she's Andraste reborn or not, I hope that Iyaza appreciates what I've done for her. And what it cost. 

"Welcome back," says Genitivi as we return to the front of the temple. "What happened to your companions?" 

"They... didn't make it," I say quietly. 

"I am sorry," Genitivi says. "This quest has already cost many lives. May Andraste take them to the Maker's side." 

I give a distant nod. "Yeah..." 

"Did you find it?" 

"Yes," I say flatly. 

"What was it like?" Genitivi says. "Oh, if you can get me up there, I must see this for myself. And we must plan an expedition! Pilgrims will flock from far and wide to visit the Urn of Sacred Ashes!" 

"I don't think that's a good idea," I say softly. 

"Why not?" Genitivi says. "The Urn belongs to all the faithful! The good news must be spread to all corners of the world!" 

"No," I say firmly. 

"We cannot keep this marvellous discovery to ourselves," Genitivi says. "I will not be silent!" 

"Then I suppose I will have to silence you, then," I say, sighing. I lift my wand, and let electricity surge through his body. "I've murdered enough people today. What's one more?" I say bitterly. 

"So, out of curiosity..." Zevran says. "What really happened?" 

"I defiled the Urn of Sacred Ashes," I say. "The others objected to that. And so I murdered them." 

"Except for Morrigan, who got caught in the crossfire," Gellert says, shaking his head. 

"No great loss, there..." Alistair says. 

"This has been an unmitigated disaster, and it's entirely because of my own mistakes," I mutter. "And my punishment for that is having to live with the consequences of my actions. I would rather have died." I shake my head. 

"Would this be a bad time to tell you to stop angsting?" Gellert says. 

"Yes," I say. "You can kick me in the morning. Let me mourn tonight. But right now, let's get the fuck out of here. I want to be as far away from this bloody mountain as possible before setting up camp for the night." 

We leave the temple and walk down the mountainside without looking back, avoiding passing through Haven on the way out. 

"I do not deserve to be in command," I mutter. 

"And yet you command nonetheless," Sten says. "Perhaps neither of us deserves to live." 

"All for the sake of atonement," I say quietly. "And the duty that cannot be forsworn." 

I'm drained, mentally, magically, and emotionally. Just a bit of flotsam being tossed about in the storm. I quietly recite the Qun, in hopes that it might offer some peace, and Sten joins in. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. 

Still, there's no peace in my mind. One more thing to add to the long list of things I would do differently should I come to this world again. But I think the one at the top of the list is not to become a Grey Warden at all. 


	33. Turning Around

The entire walk the first day away from the mountain, I keep hoping that something will kill me in order to spare me the decision to commit suicide anyway. It would have been so easy to simply erase these horrible events, and bring back my friends. 

And yet, I know I can't do that. It would not erase this timeline at all. This timeline would still continue without me. Maybe Alistair could have managed without me. Am I so arrogant to think that I'm truly the only hope for this world? What about all those times that I died in the Deep Roads fighting darkspawn? 

Here I am, obsessing overly much about what-ifs again. I can't really feel too guilty over the deaths of the cultists. I didn't know any of them, their names, their families, their lives. I didn't know which of them might have a daughter who made finger-painted dragons. All I know is that they've killed anyone wandered into their village, they murdered the Redcliffe knights who were seeking out the urn, and they were trying to kill us, too. 

But Wynne, my teacher, always ready with advise. Leliana, a little crazy and obsessed with shoes. Wesley, honorable and faithful warrior. Aveline, dedicated soldier who never complained about the quest she'd gotten dragged along on with her husband. Morrigan, reveling in her freedom, who had wanted to see mountains. Brother Genitivi, dead on a bloodthirsty whim because I didn't think at the time to just ask Tom to Obliviate him. 

I could go back and make a different choice. But that would not change the fact that this happened. This timeline would still exist. 

Still, I can build a new one. I _will_ build a new one. A new world where I can save my friends. I can save Duncan, and Cailan, and Branka and Hespith, and everyone else who died on this mad quest of mine. It's just a dream, perhaps, but I can still dream. I can still hope, I suppose. 

There are no easy answers. The world won't simply go away because I wish it to. 

Sometimes I wish I could forget. 

* * *

We arrive at Redcliffe after a sober journey down from the mountains. Well, except for Oghren, at any rate. The village appears to have recovered a good deal from its previous ordeals, but the lives that were lost here cannot so easily be replaced. 

I haven't bothered with the Dreamless Sleep potions since arriving in Orzammar. Urthemiel is always there, whether I'm asleep or awake, always lurking in the back of my mind. I can't readily blame my mistakes on the lack of proper sleep and my alertness being worn away, though. 

I shake my head and push these thoughts out of my mind as we head up to Redcliffe Castle. We encounter Bann Teagan in the main hall. 

"You're back?" Teagan says. "Is good news at this stage too much to hope for?" 

"We... we found..." I can't even manage to get out the words. 

"We found the Urn of Sacred Ashes," Tom says, stepping in smoothly. "Its location must remain a secret for the safety of everyone involved, but we brought a pouch containing a pinch of the ashes." 

Teagan's eyes widen. "Then let us go at once, and see whether the legends of the ashes' healing powers are true." 

We head upstairs. Kirlin sit diligently at the arl's side, and I quietly hand her the pouch and then slump into a nearby chair. 

"What is this?" Kirlin says, peering inside. "Dust?" 

"These are the ashes of Andraste herself," Teagan says. "Please, see what you can do. See if they can heal my poor brother." 

"I see," Kirlin says, eyes widening. 

Kirlin performs a quick ritual, but I don't watch. I think I should have been going to find the Dalish elves instead of taking that fool trip up a mountain to find a pot of ashes. Am I to now discover that Loghain had good reason to have wanted the arl out of the way? I don't know. My one consolation is that at least one life might yet be saved here. 

"Teagan?" says Arl Eamon as he stirs. "Where am I? What happened?" 

"You're awake," Teagan says, breathing a sigh of relief. "There is much to tell you. Much has happened since you fell ill." 

The others can fill Eamon in on what has transpired. As for me, I just go to get some sleep, for whatever good it will do. Is it too much to wish for a dream world where everything is happy and perfect? I suppose so. 

* * *

The next morning, I meet with Arl Eamon in his office. Spending so much time unconscious did him no favors, but he's recovering now, at least. 

"You have saved my life and the lives of my family," Arl Eamon says. "Will you allow me to honor you with a reward?" 

"Aside from requiring your assistance with the Blight, the only thing I could ask of you is to wonder why Teyrn Loghain might have wished to remove you," I say. "We are in private. I want the truth. I already saved your life. I'm not going to turn on you now, no matter what your answer is." 

Eamon sighs. "I cannot be certain. Perhaps he discovered that I made the suggestion to Cailan that he set aside Anora for the sake of an heir, as her age is advancing and no child had yet been conceived of the two. Cailan refused to hear such talk, however. And with Cailan dead, it is a moot point now." 

"I see," I say, nodding. "I can see how the suggestion of such might offend him, but trying to kill you seems to be an extreme way of expressing his displeasure at the notion. Are you certain that there was nothing more? Who would you have suggested that King Cailan marry instead?" 

"I... may have suggested a political marriage with Empress Celene of Orlais," Eamon says. 

I wince. "Oh, ouch. Alright, now everything suddenly makes sense." 

"Whatever his motivations, he cannot be allowed to drag this country into civil war with the darkspawn on our doorstep," Eamon says. "Nor can we afford to wage a lengthy campaign against him. Someone must bend, before Ferelden breaks." 

"So do you intend to surrender, then?" I ask. 

Eamon shakes his head. "No. I cannot allow Loghain's crimes to go unanswered. And while I can spread word of his treachery, what we need to do is put forth a better claimant to the throne than Loghain's daughter, Anora, and call a Landsmeet of the nobles to decide upon a successor for Cailan." 

"Surely you can't mean Alistair," I say. "He would make a terrible king!" 

"He's the only one who has a claim through blood rather than through marriage," Eamon says. 

"I don't even know Anora," I say. "How am I to say that she isn't a perfectly fine ruler herself?" 

"But does she truly rule, or is Loghain merely intent upon ruling through her?" Eamon says. "And Loghain left his own king for dead. He is mad for power." 

I sigh and put my hand on my forehead. "I find it difficult to accept Loghain as a villain. Can't we just talk to him and work things out?" 

"Do you really think that would work?" Eamon says. "He has already shown himself to be behaving irrationally." 

"I don't know," I say, shaking my head and sighing. "I don't know what the right answer is. I don't even know whether or not there _is_ a right answer. And I don't think I can even trust my own judgment to know what it might be at this point. What did the other Grey Wardens think?" 

"They did not express a preference as to a course of action, aside from Alistair, who clearly holds no love for Loghain," Eamon says. "I do not wish to proceed with the Landsmeet without your blessing, however. You are the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and the one who saved my arling and my family. I will trust your judgment in this time of Blight." 

I sigh again. "Would you trust me if you had any idea of everything that I have done?" I shake my head. "I don't want to act against Loghain. But maybe Alistair is right. I don't know. Do what you think you must." 

I get up and stride out of the room, not wanting to talk about this anymore. Loghain let me go freely before, but he will be quite angry, I would imagine, if Eamon were to show up to try to put Alistair on the throne. This is a terrible idea, I think. But what if I'm wrong, and this _is_ the best course of action? I don't know. I don't think I'm certain of anything anymore. 

"There you are, Lexen," Kirlin says, intercepting in me in the hallway. "I was hoping to speak with you before you left again." 

"Kirlin," I say, giving her a forced smile. "Planning to head back to the Circle Tower soon?" 

"I'll be staying here for a while longer to be sure that Arl Eamon makes a full recovery," Kirlin says. "I just wanted to say that I'm glad you came through and were able to help the arl after all. Maybe I was wrong about you." 

"You weren't," I say quietly, turning away. 

I head back to meet up with Tom, Gellert, and Rispy. 

"Still angsting?" Gellert says. 

"What do you think?" I reply with a snort. 

"You really need to stop that," Gellert says. "You're practically wallowing here. At least now we have a group that we can be sure we can trust, that isn't going to turn on us at a whim. And not having that damned templar around is just a bonus, in my eyes." 

"If you really want to take things down a different course, you can always go back when the Blight is done," Tom says. "Although I am not certain that I would recommend this course of action." 

"Why not?" I ask. 

"I am still uncertain as to how the darkspawn taint is really affecting you," Tom says. "And I do not know what would happen if you were to be cleansed of it, and then return to a previous point where you were still tainted." 

"Time travel makes my head hurt," Rispy mutters. 

I slump down in a chair and rub my head a bit. "Why does every world we go to turn into a mess?" 

"Things aren't really that bad here yet," Tom says. "Last time we were in Wizarding Earth, after all, they were trying to send us all to Azkaban." 

"Trying, nothing," Gellert says. "They _sent_ us to Azkaban!" 

"And none of us have died in a position that you can't readily recover from," Tom says. 

"I should have gone back," I say. "It would have been so easy." 

"That's rich," Gellert says. "A fucking time traveler moaning over what he _should have_ done. Look, Lexen. If you think you should have done something, then go back and do it! You can still go back to that point. It would just require one of us throwing a Killing Curse at you, now. But it's not like it couldn't be done." 

"But..." I say, sighing. 

"And _quit sighing_ , already," Gellert says. "If you keep moping, I _will_ kill you for your own good." 

"That would be completely ignoring the consequences for my mistakes," I say. 

"You can keep collecting regrets if you really want to," Gellert says. "But there's no real point to it. What are you accomplishing by doing so? Either go back and choose a different path, or don't. Or do you intend to try to end the Blight in every possible timeline?" 

"Much as you hate to accept it, you can't save everyone," Tom says softly. "You can't solve everyone's problems. There will always be timelines out there in which you never came. And yet somehow, they tend to do alright for themselves, without your help." 

"I do have a responsibility here," I say quietly. 

"Then consider it a responsibility to stop this Blight in _one_ timeline," Tom says. "So long as you can do that, you can consider that to be fulfilled. No one could have seriously expected you to end the threat of darkspawn forever in every possible timeline." 

"Fucking saving people thing," Gellert mutters, smirking and shaking his head. 

"The multiverse is too big a thing for my mind to comprehend," Rispy says. "It's enough for me to focus on what's in front of me, and not have my head explode from trying to see the big picture." 

"I'm going to go back to try to fix everything," I say. "Not right now. But once this is over, I'm going to start over. And then we can save whoever can be saved, and use the knowledge that we've gained to set things right. There is still much we need to learn here, and I still need to stop the damned Blight, but I _will_ be coming back." 

"Because that worked out _so_ well in Wizarding Earth," Gellert says dryly. 

"I think it worked out quite well, from my perspective," Tom says. 

"More importantly, we're now lacking a primary healer," Gellert says. "Maybe we could convince Kirlin to come along with us." 

"I don't know about that," I say. "She's just as judgmental as Wynne, really..." 

"True," Gellert says. "And she did turn us in with the incident with Jowan." 

"What about your sister, Tom?" Rispy says. "Bethany?" 

"I really wouldn't want to take my little sister into the sorts of dangerous situations we're likely to get into," Tom says. 

"And she's better off here, where you have no idea what might happen to her?" I say. 

"She can always send a Patronus to let me know if the darkspawn attack," Tom says. 

"So you'd prefer Kirlin, then?" Gellert says. "And then risk having to kill her, too, if we do something she disagrees with?" 

"How about we just _not_ do something she'd disagree with?" I suggest. 

"Now there's a crazy concept," Rispy says. 

"That's no fun," Gellert says. "And here I was looking forward to not having to deal with the templar." 

"We still have Alistair, you know," I point out. 

"More's the pity," Gellert says. "You really pick some strange traveling companions sometimes." 

"Whatever you might think of templars, they _are_ good to have around when fighting other mages," I say. 

"It just feels dirty somehow, you know?" Gellert says. 

"Whether it's inconvenient or not, I'm not taking Bethany," Tom says. 

"Fine, I'll go ask Kirlin, then," I say. "You can tell Bethany that she'll be posted with Arl Eamon to protect him and prepare for the Landsmeet, and so that she can send us a Patronus if anything demands our attention. She did seem to want to help out in some way." 

"That is acceptable," Tom says, nodding. 

"Who would have imagined you as the overprotective brother?" Gellert says with a chuckle. 

I head out to go and locate Kirlin again. "Kirlin," I say once I find her. "My friends have decided that we need a better healer than, well, me. Can I convince you to come along?" 

"Only if you explain why I wasn't wrong about you," Kirlin replies. 

I sigh. "Have you wondered where the rest of my companions wound up?" 

"What?" Kirlin says, looking at me in confusion. 

"We had a... disagreement," I say. "And now they're dead. I _killed them_." 

" _What?_ " 

"I murdered them," I whisper, slumping down against the wall and hanging my head in shame. 

" _Why?_ " 

"Do you think I should not?" I say. "Do you think I deserve to die?" 

"It's not my place to judge whether someone deserves to die or not," Kirlin says. "But of course you should not!" 

"Do you think I should go back and change it?" I demand. 

"If it were possible to do such a thing, then why shouldn't you?" Kirlin says. 

"Because then I would have to leave _this_ world," I say. 

"What are you talking about?" 

"All things that are possible exist," I say. "No one can change the past. No one can change what happens. But everything that can happen, does happen. Still, it would mean that if I were to go back and change it, I would have to leave this place and time to do so." 

Kirlin stares at me. "Everything... Lexen? If everything that can happen, does happen, doesn't that mean that you've already gone back to change it, if it were possible to change it? And that even if you went back to change it, you'd still be here, too?" 

"Fuck, time travel hurts my head," I mutter. 

"You're the one who brought up this nonsense!" Kirlin says. 

"Alright, let me put it this way, then," I say. "If I were to suddenly drop dead, along with Tom, Gellert, and Rispy, would you be willing to join up with Alistair and the others to stop the Blight?" 

"Of course," Kirlin says. 

"Do you think that you, Alistair, Sten, Oghren, and Zevran -- and the dog -- might actually be able to succeed at that?" I wonder. 

"I don't really know these people you've mentioned very well," Kirlin says. "I just met most of them. But I don't see why we couldn't. Have faith in your friends." 

I let out a long breath, and feel like a terrible weight has been lifted from me. "Thank you, Kirlin, for opening my eyes." 

"So will you tell me why Wynne had to die now?" Kirlin says. 

"It was a terrible mistake," I say. "And one I'm going to correct." 

"Wait, what?" Kirlin says. "You mean all that time travel babbling _wasn't_ hypothetical?" 

"Not at all," I say flatly. 

Kirlin blinks. "If you can do that, why can't you just go back and prevent the massacre at Ostagar? Or stop the Circle Tower from being overrun by abominations? Or keep Jowan from making an idiot of himself, stop the arl from being poisoned? Or..." 

I throw back my head and laugh softly. "Or Branka's house from being lost in the Deep Roads. Or Scregor's brother from being murdered. Or any number of other things, yes. Here I am, spinning my wheels and wasting time, when everything could have been different." 

"Why do you do it?" Kirlin wonders. 

Kirlin's a brilliant young elf woman. She's quick to latch onto the idea of time travel, and not only understand it, but point out the flaws in what I've been doing that never even occurred to me. 

"I've kept going at it because I know that going back will not erase the timeline I'm in, and won't actually change anything," I say. 

"You may not change the timeline you just came from," Kirlin says. "But you can change the timeline you go _to_." 

"That... I hadn't thought about that," I say. 

"I swear, Lexen, you are _so_ dense sometimes," Kirlin says. 

"I didn't want to abandon everyone, though," I say. "I didn't want to shirk my responsibility, my duty as a Grey Warden." 

"You're not," Kirlin says. "I certainly wouldn't think you were _abandoning_ anyone. If you can go back to any point and change anything, then _do it_. Why in the Fade wouldn't you? So what if you couldn't change the world you just came from? You can use what you've learned to make everything better! I hope you've learned from your mistakes." 

Kirlin is an elf, and her eyes are gray rather than dark, but it's times like this that she reminds me of Cassie so much that it hurts. I have to restrain the impulse to kiss her. 

"Kirlin," I say. "I think I love you." 

Kirlin smirks. "Go, then. Do your time travel thing. We'll be fine. And may the Maker guide your steps." 

I head back into the room where my bondmates are waiting, and say, "So, who wants to go back? All the way back?" 

"Holy shit, he stopped angsting!" Gellert says brightly. 

Tom's lips quirks with a faint grin. "The thought is making you smile again. Of course I will." 

"Back to Dust Town, where my sister hasn't been alienated yet?" Rispy says. "Fuck yes." 

"Before we do anything, let's plan this damned thing," I say. 

"Not a terrible idea," Gellert says. "Although, as they say, no plan survives contact with the enemy. And the enemy, in our case, is random chance." 

"For one thing, I'm _not_ going to that tower," I say. 

Gellert shrugs. "I'll still be stuck there. No matter. A chance to get some more reading done. Do you have any idea how many things there still are in that library that I haven't read yet?" 

"If anyone sees an opportunity to pre-emptively kill Uldred, then take it," I say. 

"And I'll see what I can do in Orzammar," Rispy says. 

"What about Loghain?" Tom asks. 

"After all he's done, I'm still not entirely convinced that he's a bad guy," I say. 

Tom smirks. "Of course he is. He's just as much a villain as I am." 

"You are totally not," I say. "Also, do you two know how to Apparate in this world?" 

"I think I can handle it," Tom says, and Gellert just nods in agreement. 

"I'm still going to be a Grey Warden," I say. 

"There's no need to go through the Joining again," Tom says. 

"And I'm _going_ to save Duncan this time," I say. "And Cailan, and..." 

"Saving people thing," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"If that's what makes you happy, love," Tom says, grinning. 

I laugh softly, laying back on the bed, very nearly crying from happiness. "And you know what? Fuck it all. Let's do this as many times as necessary. Let's build the perfect world." 

"That's not going to be easy," Tom says. 

"Yeah, first off, define 'perfect'," Gellert says. 

"A world in which everyone I care about is safe and happy and free," I say. 

"Those are sometimes mutually exclusive things," Gellert says. 

"I say it's a perfectly fine goal," Rispy says. 

"And I'm going to save my father," Tom says quietly. 

"Yes!" I say enthusiastically. "We have this power. Let's use it, damn it!" 

"That's what I've been saying all along," Gellert says. "But you've always been something of a party pooper, Mr. Time Travel Is Not a Toy." 

"You were using it to say different things to someone just to see how they'd react!" I say. 

"So?" Gellert says. "I don't see the problem with this. Why not?" 

I laugh softly. "Why not indeed?" 


	34. Eternal Possibilities

After waking in my dorm in Torn Elkandu, I practically _skip_ to the Nexus, and activate it to return to Wizarding-Prime to collect Tom, Gellert, and Rispy. 

"Lexen," Tom says gently when I arrive. "Maybe you should pick up Cassie." 

"What?" I say, my heart stopping for a moment as I look to him in surprise. "You know how I felt about--" 

Tom holds up a hand. "She makes you happy. Happier than I ever could, I think. You've been pretty miserable without her." 

"Yeah," Gellert agrees. "And don't think I forgot the time or two that you wished that Kirlin were Cassie." 

"You came back in happy after talking to Kirlin," Tom says. "I don't think that's a coincidence." 

"I--" I start, and then sigh. "Alright, alright. I give." 

I take their hands and we Recall back to the Nexus of Torn Elkandu. I think of the place to take us... in the Chamber of Secrets, on the run from Aurors, after Cassie rescued me and Gellert from Azkaban. We'd completed the Soul Bonding ritual and were making plans for our next journey. 

The glowing mists surround us, and the purple sky of Torn Elkandu vanishes, to be replaced by the Salazar Slytherin's vast chamber underneath Hogwarts. 

"I can't wait to see Terrestia," Cassie says brightly, apparently not noticing that, between one moment and the next, nearly a century had passed for the rest of us. 

I can't help myself. I grab Cassie and hold her in a tight embrace, and kiss her passionately on the lips. She's a little surprised at the suddenness of it, but after a moment, hugs me back. 

"We're not going to Terrestia," I say after we break off finally. 

"What's going on?" Cassie wonders. 

"It's a long story," I say. "But I am very glad to see you again." 

Tom's ghost snorts softly. "They're always long stories. But we don't have time for more than a summary right now." 

"We've already been to Terrestia," Gellert says. 

"You... but... you didn't take me with you?" Cassie says, looking confused. 

"We did," Gellert says. "And then you came back to Wizarding Earth and decided to stay here." 

"I... well, that's strange," Cassie says. "I'm sure I must have had good reason for it, or at least a reason that sounded good to the, uh, me who had been through whatever happened in Terrestia. But _I_ still want to see the multiverse." 

"We're going to a world called Thedas," Tom says. "It's a rather nice place, if you disregard some of the issues that it has. But then, every world has its issues." 

"Let's give you a brief briefing on it so you know what you're getting into," Gellert says. "Wizards and witches are called 'mages' there. And are gathered up in a Circle of Magi. It's basically imprisonment and slavery, though. It's illegal for mages to act outside of the permission of the Circle, and there's a group called the templars who have anti-magic abilities and hunt down illegal mages, called 'apostates'." 

"If this is 'rather nice', I'd hate to see what your idea of a bad place is," Cassie says. 

"Eh, it's not really as bad as it sounds," Gellert says, chuckling. "You either claim to be a Grey Warden or an associate of one, and you can do all the magic in front of templars you want and they can't say a thing about it." 

"And they also have no way of detecting mages unless they see you doing magic in front of them," Tom says. 

"And most of the templars are too stupid to realize that somebody wearing a robe and carrying a staff might be a mage," Gellert says. "Also, don't get possessed by demons. I think you're smart enough to tell them no." 

"Honestly," I say, "it beats living in a world where you constantly have to hide your magic from Muggles, and might get sent to a prison with soul-sucking monsters as guards for little to no reason." 

"Well, there's that," Cassie says, chuckling. "Alright, let's go. You're not leaving me behind again." 

"One more thing," Gellert says. "You might wind up being someone else. If that happens, your memories will merge, and it might be a little disorienting." 

I nod. "I know who and where Tom, Rispy, and Gellert are going to be. When we arrive... hmm, Tom, can we meet up somewhere? Perhaps Apparate over near Lothering? Then you can stun me. Alright, Cassie. If you're not with me when we arrive, wait for Tom's Patronus, and send your reply to let us know who and where you are." 

"Got it," Cassie says, nodding. "Wait. Tom's Patronus? Tom has a Patronus now? And why not your Patronus?" 

"I... well..." I pull out my wand and think of the rainbow after the storm. " _Expecto Patronum_." Nothing. Not even a spark. I shake my head. 

"Well, maybe you just need a new happy memory," Cassie says, kissing me. 

"Lexen, there's something you should know," Tom says. "The bond between you and Cassie is back." 

I stare at him for a long moment, and then look at Cassie. My vision is blurry... am I crying? Does there really need to be a happy ending? Is a happy eternity possible? Perhaps we need never simply accept the existence of death. Can I dream of a future where death is but a memory, another enemy that was conquered long ago? Eternity is a wonderful thought... 

" _Expecto Patronum_ ," I whisper. 

Light floods my vision -- brilliant, silvery light. It is formless for several long moments, but then finally coalesces into a massive, graceful shape. Wings bent against the back, a long, serpentine tail, an elegant reptilian head. A dragon. A magnificent, beautiful dragon. 

"Well, that was not what I might have expected," Gellert says. "And here I thought he'd just pull out a crow or something." 

"Her name is Eternity," I breathe. 

"Your Patronus has a name?" Cassie asks. 

"She's a spirit," I say. "A spirit of hope." 

* * *

"There you are," Tom says. "Perhaps we should have named a more specific location near Lothering to meet up." 

I snicker softly. "Yeah, sorry." Tom stuns me and revives me, and I pull out my wand, and think of eternity. " _Expecto Patronum!_ " The beautiful silvery dragon appears again. "I want you to find Cassie. She might not have the same name or look like what she did before, but you know her. You know her soul. She's part of me. Go find her, and ask her who and where she is." The dragon nods, and flies off into nowhere. 

A few minutes later, Cassie's raven Patronus appears, and speaks in a young girl's voice, "My name is Kirlin Surana. I am seven years old, and I am at Kinloch Hold." 

"Maker," I whisper. "She really was Cassie after all..." 

Tom grins. "I am not surprised." 

"Kirlin's Patronus was a dove, though," I say. 

"And yours was a duck," Tom says quietly. "They do sometimes change under less extraordinary circumstances. I don't find it strange that two versions of the same soul might have different Patronuses. Kirlin underwent different experiences than Cassie has, but this time, Cassie brought her Patronus with her, rather than allowing Kirlin's to develop." 

"I concede your point." I summon my Patronus again. "Kirlin... I should have known. Gellert is in the tower also. His name is Gellert Amell. Would you rather be removed from there as soon as possible, or do you want to spend some time there learning for a bit?" 

The raven returns shortly thereafter. "I don't know much about this world, or anything about how they use magic here. This seems a good enough place to learn. I'll meet up with Gellert, and he can appraise me on what to look out for. I'll send you a Patronus if the situation changes. This is going to be fun!" 

I smile warmly at the thought of Cassie's happiness. "That makes me want to go back to Kinloch Hold right there." 

"So why don't you?" Tom asks. 

I shake my head. "It's well enough to know that she's here and she's happy. There are many things I want to do yet." 

"Well, you have twelve years to do them in before the Blight breaks loose," Tom says. "I'd best be getting back home before someone notices I'm gone." 

I give a nod, and Tom Apparates away. 

The start of a new world is already so full of hope and possibilities. From this vantage point, it seems like I could accomplish anything. There are so many things that might be done, but with no real rush on any of them, I don't even know where to start. 

Well, for starters, I transfigure my clothing to something resembling Fereldan commoners' garb. No sense in standing out anymore than necessary. 

There is so much of the world I haven't seen yet. Perhaps I could visit the Tevinter Imperium, or the Qunari lands. I could actually be a Qunari. I'd just... need to hide the fact that I have magic. Well, I'm not some child still bursting with accidental magic, or a half-witted mage liable to turn into an abomination at a moment's notice. It would not be that difficult. 

But, I have some time to think about it. For the moment, I Apparate over to Denerim to head in and get my money changed to currency used in this world. Whether I'm going somewhere that uses Fereldan sovereigns or not, having them is less suspicious than carrying around... two bags of holding full of gold bars, gems, and Wizarding Earth galleons, apparently. Definitely need to get rid of those galleons, discreetly. 

* * *

It's easy to forget the darkspawn dreams when there isn't an archdemon awake. They're still nightmares, of course, but compared to what I experienced during the Blight, I can happily ignore the tugging at the back of my mind. Still, they very nearly make me rethink my plans. Perhaps I should seek out the Grey Wardens instead, and find Duncan. 

But no. It can wait. I head for the docks, and hire passage on a ship heading north. I manage to find one bound for Llomerryn. I didn't expect to find one going all the way to Par Vollen. 

It had not previously occurred to me just how much I would wind up hating sea travel. I wind up sitting in my cabin muttering in Qunlat. "The tide rises, the tide falls, the tide rises, the tide falls, the tide rises, the tide falls..." My stomach is churning, and this isn't helping. 

"You're one of those Qunari sorts, aren't you," says the captain from the doorway. I didn't hear him come in. I just grunt in reply. "Didn't expect to find one of you in Ferelden. Well, not to worry. We'll get you home. Your gold is as good as anyone else's." 

From Llomerryn, I find a ship that will take me to Kont-Aar. I make quite sure to take a good look around each place I visit so that I will be able to Apparate there later, and spare myself another ship voyage. 

At the end of my journey, I gratefully stagger off the ship into the city of Kont-Aar. I wasn't sure what to expect. A fortified city of with many horned heads stands before me. The docks are well-guarded, and my attempt at leaving the dock area is met by the spears of a pair of Qunari. 

"My apologies," I say, inclining my head toward them politely. "I wished to join you, and I am uncertain where I should go for that. Could you direct me to the right place?" 

"You wish to submit to the Qun?" says one of the guards. 

"Yes," I reply. 

"Come," he says. 

* * *

The Qunari are strange, but I like to think of myself as adaptable. I've adapted to being a wizard in Britain, to being a Shaper in Terrestia, to being a mage in the Circle, to being a Grey Warden. One more mask to put on, another role to play. 

When asked my lineage, I replied, "Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer Dragonblood." Irrelevent names of distant places. But they asked, and I saw no reason to lie about that. It's not like they'd have any idea what any of it meant anyway. 

Although I'm a passable enough fighter without my magic, my intelligence and craving for knowledge leads to me being shuffled off into the priest caste as a researcher and scientist instead. That suits me well enough. It's only then that I discover how much more advanced the Qunari are than the rest of Thedas. Not so much so as the Muggles of Wizarding Earth, or even the Shapers of Terrestia with their magical bio-technology, but certainly moreso than the humans or even the dwarves that I've seen so far. 

Still, I can readily see how flawed Qunari society really is. I can hardly go near their mages without my blood burning in rage at their treatment. Sten must have been an incredibly tolerant and accepting member of Qunari society, if he was willing to not only work with unchained mages, but to follow one. 

"The Saarebas are like broken tools," explains one of my teachers. "They are inherently incapable of mastering themselves, and hence are always a danger to themselves and those around them. And so, the Saarebas serve as the weapons of the Arvaarad. Should a Saarebas ever become separated from their Arvaarad, he must be destroyed." 

They're nothing more than slaves. Worse than slaves. Treated like animals, like objects. Even mabari hounds are treated better than this. They're brainwashed from a young age, and treated worse than a warrior might treat their sword or bow. A bow doesn't get snapped if you happen to misplace it temporarily. 

The more time I spend among the Qunari, the more I see their flaws. But I'm perfectly capable of seeing the facets that are good, as well. They own nothing, and share amongst one another by need. There is no poverty in Qunari lands. Aside from the Saarebas, there is no hatred for those whose roles are less glamorous. All are of the Qun. 

And then, at the same time, I see those who are forcefully converted against their will. And if someone will not submit, they are turned into mindless workers with the qamek. The very thought of that disgusts me. I have to get out of here. 

Sometime, I will build a perfect society. I just need to learn what that might be. How can everyone be happy, and still allow them free will? I have to believe that it's possible. I just need to keep searching. 

Over the years, I keep an eye on my bonds, and commit suicide to reset the day whenever I sense that one of them has died. Rispy is the most common one of those, and I wind up having to give him several extra chances. 

One day, I receive a Patronus letting me know that Gellert, Kirlin, Jowan, and Anders escaped from the tower, destroying their phylacteries before they went. It's still a couple years before they would have gone to their Harrowings. I'm glad to hear that they're free. 

And then, one night, I dream. Urthemiel stirs in my mind, waking, roaring, singing. I sit bolt upright in bed, screaming. 

"Ashkaari?" says a kossith woman, coming up to the end of the bed and looking to me in alarm. "Ashkaari, are you alright?" 

I nod shakily. My hands are trembling, and my body is covered in cold sweat. "I... I think so." 

"Did you have another nightmare?" 

"Another?" I say, making a face. 

She nods. "You never sleep well. I always see you tossing and turning, clawing at your bed as if trying to escape or fight back, perhaps. What do you dream of?" 

"Darkspawn," I whisper. "An archdemon has awoken. Another Blight has begun." 

The Qunari woman stares at me for a moment. "You are certain of this?" 

"Absolutely," I say. 

"You must talk to the Ariqun," she says in alarm. 

For all that I'm a member of the priest caste, I haven't spoken much with the Ariqun. I'm a little nervous as I go before her, wondering what she might say about this. I tell her of my dreams, and my absolute certainty that a Blight has just begun. 

"Why do you dream of darkspawn, Ashkaari?" the Ariqun asks. 

"I did not mention it when I came here... but I am a Grey Warden," I say. "Grey Wardens can resist the taint and sense darkspawn, but also dream of the darkspawn as well. So I know, beyond a doubt, that Urthemiel is now awake." 

"A Grey Warden?" the Ariqun repeats. "Then you have a duty to fight the darkspawn." 

I give a nod. "Now that there is a Blight happening, yes, I do. I have a duty to fight. I must stop the Blight." 

"Then go, Ashkaari," the Ariqun says. "There is nothing that states that a Qunari cannot be a Grey Warden, or the other way around. Go, and fulfill your demand of the Qun. You know what you must do better than anyone." 

"Thank you, Ariqun," I say. 

" _Panahedon_ , Ashkaari," the Ariqun says, nodding to me as I leave. 

While leaving Par Vollen by conventional means would provide a good cover, I have no desire to go on the sea again anytime soon if I can possibly help it. I find a nice, quiet spot out of sight, and Apparate directly to Lothering. It has been a while since I've done this, and I clench my teeth as I force myself through the Fade to my destination, to arrive safely at the far end. 

I wonder if the Hawkes are at the same house as they were before? Well, easiest way to find out. I head over to the house and knock on the door. Bethany comes and answers it, and I smile. 

"Hello," I say, barely remembering to greet her in English rather than Qunlat. "Is Tom here?" 

"Oh, hello," Bethany says. "You must be another of Tom's friends. Everyone else calls him Hawke. Come on inside, and I'll find him for you." 

"I am, and thank you." 

I step inside. The house looks much the same as it did before, a massive mansion concealed in a quaint cottage on the outskirts of a small town. An aging man is in the main hall, who looks over to me as I come in. 

"I'm Malcolm Hawke. A friend of Tom's, are you? What's your name, lad?" 

"Ashkaari," I reply reflexively. "I mean, Lexen. Lexen Chelseer." 

"What, have you been going by another name for a while?" Malcolm says. 

I give a nod. "I've gone by many names and roles in my life, and sometimes I wind up forgetting who I'm supposed to be at any given moment." I smirk. "I'm just glad that I can stop pretending not to be a mage now, at least. Woo!" 

I prance around the room, Scourgifying every bit of dust and levitating several objects randomly. It's not like I hadn't used magic at all while in Qunari lands, but I'd made sure to keep it lowkey and undetectable. No one would notice if I used something like a Naming Charm, for instance. 

"Having fun, Lexen?" Tom says in amusement, walking into the room, followed shortly by Kirlin. By _Cassie_. 

I giggle, and let the furniture stop floating in the air. "Just nice to be able to do magic freely, even in private. I'm just glad to see you both." 

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Tom says. "Come on back. Gellert, Anders, and Jowan are here, too." 

I head back with them into another room, and stop and stare from the doorway. Not only are my old friends here, but three strange wraith-like creatures are hovering in the back of the room. "Tom... What in the Fade are those things?" 

"Oh, I forgot about the ash wraiths," Tom says. "A few years ago, when my father became deathly ill, I went up to visit the Urn of Sacred Ashes to get a pinch and cure him. Those wraiths appeared at the bridge puzzle that was supposed to test teamwork or some such, probably because I went alone. They never quite went away, though, and just kind of hang out at my house now. It's kind of creepy, really." 

"I freaked out when I first saw them, too," Anders says. "I thought Tom here had been practicing demon summoning." 

Kirlin hugs me tightly. "So what have you been doing? I hope you weren't getting into any adventures without us." She grins at me. 

"I was up north in Par Vollen, learning about the Qunari," I say. "And thankful that they never caught on that I'm a mage." At least not in a way that I couldn't immediately reset if need be. 

"Did you learn anything interesting?" Tom asks. 

"That they make the Circle of Magi seem liberal and forgiving," I reply dryly. "They do have some interesting technology, though, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to study it." 

"You'll have to share sometime," Kirlin says. 

I chuckle. "They'd certainly kill me for doing so. And I don't care." 

"Everyone always wants to keep such a tight control on their secrets that they'll kill anyone who dares try to spread them," Kirlin says. "Do they not realize that it doesn't work, and all it takes is one person?" 

"They've done a good job of keeping a lock on their secrets so far, but only because of their extensive brainwashing," I say, shrugging. "They're suspicious of anyone who joins up with them as an adult, but I spent long enough with them to convince them of my sincerity and get access to many things I never would have, otherwise." 

"So what brought you back?" Tom says. "Miss our evilly grinning faces?" 

I snicker. "That, too. I kind of lost track of time. The archdemon waking up kind of... woke me up." 

"An archdemon?" Jowan says in alarm. "You mean... there's a Blight?" 

I give a nod. "How much have you told them?" I ask my bondmates. 

"We told them that we're originally from another world," Gellert says. "Gave them spare wands and taught them some of our magic." 

In other words, they didn't mention anything about the time travel thing. Good. 

"How do you mean, it woke you up?" Anders asks. "Are you a Grey Warden?" 

"I am," I reply. "I need to find Duncan..." 

"Why don't you just send him a Patronus?" Kirlin asks. 

I stare at her for a moment, and then laugh. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you? Because I don't think I've done so nearly often enough. Every time we meet, I fall in love with you over and over again." 

"Because I point out the obvious?" Kirlin says with a smirk, then leans over and kisses me. 

"What would I do without you?" 

"Angst and mope over things you can very well change?" Gellert says. 

"Hush, you. Hmm, only problem with a Patronus is that I have no idea where he might be, and he can't respond." 

"We could perform a locator ritual," Kirlin says. "Or maybe you could put a dot for him on one of those magic maps?" 

"Brilliant," I say. I pull out my wand and the map I'd made in this life, mostly detailing Par Vollen. While I'd at first thought it was disorienting to have so many people with the same names, now I'm starting to wonder if just having random city guards labeled 'Guard' and nothing else would be preferable. 

"With the Blight coming, I'd like to relocate my family to safety," Tom says. "I don't trust Redcliffe as really being particularly safe. Since we've got more time before the Blight hits, I was thinking taking them out of the country might be a good idea. Perhaps to the Free Marches. The templars in Kirkwall would be easier to deal with than a rampaging horde of darkspawn." 

"Good plan," I say. "Don't want to be fleeing for their lives with darkspawn on their heels again." 

As they start making preparations to leave, I work on getting Duncan's dot to show up on the map. It's far more difficult than doing Scregor, probably because I didn't actually know him for very long. Finally, however, I do manage it. 

"Duncan is in Orlais," I say. "Hopefully they actually speak French there, and aren't just randomly French-like and speaking some language I don't even know..." 

"I'm coming with you," Kirlin says. 

"I was intending on Apparating and flying part of the way to get me there faster," I say. 

Kirlin grins. "I can do that, too." In demonstration, she shifts into the form of a crow. With a white dot on the forehead, for some reason. 

"Ah," I say. "You've been teaching her?" I ask Tom. 

Tom nods. "Taught her the trick to Apparating here, too. But the shapeshifting... she's a natural at it." 

The crow seems to laugh for a moment, and then shifts into a black cat with a white marking on the forehead, then into a black horse, again with a white star-shaped mark on the face, before returning to elven form. 

"Wow, nice," I say. 

"I'll send you a Patronus once my family is safely in Kirkwall," Tom says. 


	35. Meetings on the Road

As we head to Orlais, it becomes clear that Duncan is rapidly heading toward us as well. He must be hurrying back to Ferelden. 

And when we travel, Urthemiel appears in my sleep. Watching me. She knows me. She recognizes me. She remembers me. She wants me, calls to me, sings to my soul. I'm not sure how much she remembers of that other timeline. At least I can be thankful that there isn't much to remember. We only fought directly once, and I doubt that I will need to go into the Deep Roads again this time, if Rispy has done his job well. I wonder if Urthemiel died in that timeline when I came back. I suppose it's impossible to know. 

On our way there, Gellert's phoenix Patronus drops us a message. "I picked up a job tutoring Arl Eamon's son so that nobody else gets it. I'll keep an eye out for anyone trying to poison the arl or hiring somebody to do so. Maybe this way I can keep Connor from being discovered as a mage, too. Certainly don't need the poor kid to get locked away in the tower for the rest of his life." 

Kirlin and I locate Duncan's camp, where he's traveling along with a small group, probably other Grey Wardens. No, definitely Grey Wardens. Once we get close enough, I can sense them like I can the darkspawn. How odd. We land nearby, shift form, and approach the camp. 

"Who's there?" Duncan says, then blinks at me. "A Grey Warden?" 

I give a nod. "Hello, Duncan. I desperately needed to speak with you as quickly as possible." 

"Yes, I have sensed the archdemon's rise myself," Duncan says. "I do not recognize you. What is your name, brother?" 

"Lexen," I reply. "I'm originally from Ferelden, but I've been up north for the last several years. I came down to help with the Blight." 

Duncan nods. "I'm glad to have you. We're going to need every Warden we can get, especially with numbers as low as they are. And who is your companion?" 

"Kirlin," she replies, inclining her head toward him. "I am his wife and soulmate, and I will follow him into the Void if need be." 

"An elf?" Duncan says, raising an eyebrow. "Unusual, but I can say nothing against you. Can you fight, my lady?" 

Kirlin chuckles. "You are very polite. Yes, I can fight. I am a mage -- an apostate, if you must know. But I understand that if I join your order, the templars are less likely to hunt me. You are in need of skilled recruits, yes?" 

"This is true," Duncan says. "Although our order is not a refuge simply to hide from templars. I cannot take in every apostate, lest I draw the ire of the Chantry." 

"Of course you can't," Kirlin says. "That's why I'm not suggesting that you also recruit my half dozen other apostate friends. Even if they _would_ make for a formidable force against the darkspawn. Although, one of them is kind of an idiot." 

I chuckle. "He is indeed. Anyway, whether you decide to recruit them or not, they _will_ be helping. Also a dwarf or two in Orzammar, as well. Hmm. And probably a Qunari, a crazy Chantry sister, and whatever others might make up a ragtag band of misfits." 

Duncan blinks. "I cannot complain of having more allies, even from unlikely sources." 

"Alright, Duncan, let's get to the point," I say. "There are some things that we need to explain, and what we have to say here is for your ears alone." 

"Very well," Duncan says. "Let's go into my tent..." 

"No, let's use mine," I say. I pull out my wizard tent and unfold it, then step inside, followed by Kirlin and then Duncan. 

"By the Maker, what is this tent?" Duncan says, staring wide-eyed at the much larger space inside. 

"The finest in enchantments from a world called Earth," I say. "We're not from Thedas, Duncan. And we're time travelers. We've come from the future to attempt to avert disaster." 

"I have a feeling that this is going to be a long story," Duncan says. 

"You have no idea," Kirlin says. 

* * *

"That is... quite the story," Duncan says once we're done. "Thank you for telling me all of this." 

I give a nod. "You're probably the only one in this world that I trust completely," I say. "I just hope we can do something to help, and prevent so many good people from dying." 

"We did kill Uldred," Kirlin says. "I was leery of assassinating a senior mage like that, but considering what Gellert described of the tower being overrun by abominations due to Uldred's foolishness, I could hardly argue with it. Also, my few interactions with the man painted him to be a most unpleasant individual." 

"And Gellert's in Redcliffe making sure the massacre there doesn't occur," I say. "I don't know what Rispy is doing, but we can debrief him when we get to Orzammar." 

"We will pass by there in two days' time," Duncan says. "We can make a stop there and meet up with your friend while we're in the area." 

I give a nod. "Good. As we mentioned, we mages know a spell that we can use to contact anyone that we're familiar with, but Rispy's a dwarf, and hence has been cut off from contact with us for quite some time." 

"And we must certainly find a way to prevent the disaster you described at Ostagar," Duncan says. 

"There is... one more matter that I think I need to mention," I say. "As you can see, my connection to the darkspawn and the archdemon remains even though I have not actually been through the Joining in this life. There's more to it than that, however. Urthemiel is very much aware of me, and she's calling to me, and may have knowledge of the future as well." I sigh. 

"You know it is Urthemiel?" Duncan says. "And... she? The Tevinter Old Gods were traditionally thought of as male." 

"She's a high dragon," I say. "High dragons are always female. The males are little and don't even have wings." 

"I think there's more to be concerned about than the gender of the archdemon," Kirlin comments dryly. 

"Yes, of course," Duncan says. "I am not certain what this could mean for the Blight, however." 

"At best," I say, "she has foreknowledge of irrelevent events. At worst... she could be immortal. I honestly do not know." 

"How do you mean?" Duncan says, raising an eyebrow. "The archdemons are already immortal if killed by anyone other than a Grey Warden." 

"Huh?" I say, looking at him in confusion. 

"Were you never told?" Duncan says, frowning a bit. "Perhaps the other Wardens were killed too soon after your recruitment to explain a number of things to you." 

"Alright, let's go with the assumption that I know nothing," I say. "I feel like I might as well, at times. Explain." 

"When the archdemon is killed, the soul will seek out the nearest darkspawn, and it will become the archdemon instead. However, if killed by a Grey Warden, the nearest tainted body will already have a soul, and instead, both souls will be destroyed, the archdemon along with the Grey Warden." 

I blink. "No, nobody mentioned that part. Alright, so the main issue then is that the archdemon may have future knowledge." 

I'm certainly not going to be the one to strike the final blow here, then. I don't know whether that would actually kill me or not, but there's no way in the Void that I'm going to take the chance. I like living, damn it. I like being immortal. The idea of losing all that horrifies me. If it were to come down to my own continued existence, then the whole world can burn. 

"All things considered," Kirlin says, "it would probably be best if we could find a way to break the connection between Lexen and the archdemon. But I think that would probably require more than a simple Ritual of Purification." 

I give a nod. "I wanted to be a Grey Warden... but I didn't realize what it would do. Now it just seems more of a liability than anything else, so far as actually fighting the Blight goes." 

"And it sounds like you are already experiencing your Calling, as well," Duncan says. "How long have you been a Grey Warden?" 

"Twelve years," I say. "However, it's been like that from the start. Another thing I neglected to mention? I didn't survive the Joining the first time. I survived it the _third_ time. I have no idea how that might have affected things. Maybe I was never supposed to be a Grey Warden in the first place." 

Maybe putting a Dragonblood through the Joining was just plain a bad idea to begin with. There are any number of things that could have affected things, and I wish I had known more before going into it. Damned Grey Warden secrecy. 

"It's difficult to say," Duncan says. "I have never encountered a case quite like yours before." 

"I would be surprised if you had," I say with a smirk. "I don't even know if the darkspawn will attack Ostagar at all, now. But whatever happens, we will find a way to prevent you, Cailan, and whoever else we can from being killed." 

"You should be aware that even if you were to spare me from that fate, I will meet my end fighting darkspawn soon enough regardless," Duncan says. "The nightmares have returned for me, and even if I should survive this Blight, I will soon need to go to the Deep Roads to end it myself. If we are fortunate, however, I may get the chance to strike the killing blow on the archdemon myself." 

"I see," I say, nodding. "Very well, then. I shall do my best to see that you get the chance." 

I don't like the idea of anyone having to die to stop that thing, but it seems there are no shortage of volunteers. Am I a coward, then, for only being willing to risk death when I know that I cannot actually be killed? For being utterly terrified of anything that just might be able to end my existence or do permanent damage to my mind and soul? It seems the sensible attitude, in my eyes. Let the mortals throw themselves to their deaths. I am eternal. 

That makes me sound really damned arrogant, doesn't it. Pride... always my greatest sin. That pride is going to destroy me one day, I fear. 

* * *

Orzammar doesn't look any different than I remember it, aside from the fact that the handful of people outside the gates on the surface are there because they choose to be, and not because they're being kept out. 

"Welcome to Orzammar, Grey Wardens," says the guard at the gates. "Shall I have someone show you to your headquarters here?" 

"That's quite alright," Duncan says. "We know the way, and we were planning to look around a bit first." 

We head inside and into the commons. The city is cheerful and active, and a few passersby stop to look at us and murmur excitedly about surfacers, about humans or elves, about Grey Wardens. Duncan sends his companions off to the headquarters and heads along with Kirlin and I by himself. 

"Grey Wardens!" calls a dwarf from a nearby merchant stall. "Can I interest you in some fine weapons and armor?" 

I look over at him, and hardly recognize him, but recognize him I do indeed. It's Ruck, looking healthy, bright-eyed and happy. Rispy did, indeed, succeed in changing something here at least, clearly. Even if nothing else is different, I'm glad to see that poor Ruck has gotten a chance at a better life. 

"Sure, we'll take a look," I say, heading over to his stand and making a show of examining the merchandise. "Would you happen to have heard of a dwarf by the name of Rispy, by chance?" 

"Who doesn't know about Rispy?" Ruck says. "He's the Warrior Caste's greatest champion, the hero of the Deep Roads, who has the Paragons' own luck. I haven't spoken to him much in recent years, but we were youngsters together, back when he was still a duster. He helped me a lot, though. Shows that not everyone in Dust Town is scum. How do you know Rispy? Have they heard about him even on the surface, now?" 

"Indeed," I say. "Thank you for your time." 

We move off again, and Duncan comments, "It sounds like your friend has made quite a name for himself here." 

I pull out my map and take a look over it. I'd already added dots for my bondmates onto it, since they were easy to do given my connection and familiarity with them. Using that, I pinpoint Rispy at a house in the commons, and head over that way. 

Rispy's sister, Rica, comes and answers the door. She still bears the brand on her face, but her red hair is neatly but modestly done up, and her manner of dress is simple but not filthy rags. "Yes? Um, Stone met, surfacers. May I help you?" 

"Stone met," Duncan says. "We are Grey Wardens, my lady." 

"We wished to speak with your brother, Rispy," I say. "Is he here?" 

"Oh, yes, of course," Rica says. "Come right in. Oh, my ancestors, were you looking to recruit Rispy? My own little brother, a Grey Warden?" 

"Perhaps," Duncan says, stepping inside. 

"It's amazing enough that he managed to get us Warrior Caste," Rica says. 

"That's a fair bit of a tale, I'm sure," I say. "And one I'd love to hear from his own lips." 

Rica leads us off to another room and says, "Brother, there are Grey Wardens here to see you." 

Rispy grins over at us when he sees us enter the room. "Glad to see you. Come in, take a seat. Rica, can you make sure Mother doesn't disturb us, please?" 

"Certainly, brother," Rica says dryly, closing the door behind us. 

"I think some introductions are in order," I say. "Rispy, this is Duncan, Warden-Commander of Ferelden. And Kirlin Surana, who was Cassiopeia Black in another time and place." 

"Stone met, Rispy," Duncan says. "Lexen has told me a number of interesting things. Am I to understand that you are also from another world? But you seem to have family here." 

"How much have you told him?" Rispy asks me. 

"Everything," I reply. 

"Everything?" Rispy says. "Somehow I doubt that, otherwise you would have been spending the entirety of the past year babbling to him day and night about every minor detail of your exploits." 

I smirk broadly. "We summarized, and cut a lot." 

"I don't believe it," Rispy says with mocking shock. 

"More specifically," Kirlin says. " _I_ summarized a lot of it. Otherwise we'd never manage to get anything done." 

Rispy snickers and gives a nod, and turns back to Duncan. "Anyway. Yes. It's not quite so simple as us being from other worlds. When we arrive in a new world, there are often... counterparts who share the same soul. If there is one of those present already, we will merge with our counterpart and effectively become them. I was not a dwarf before, in the other worlds I have visited. And Kirlin was not an elf, either. She was a human mage, instead, by the name of Cassiopeia Black, as Lexen mentioned." 

"I see," Duncan says, scratching his beard. 

"From the looks of things, Rispy, you've been quite successful here," I say. "We met Ruck on the way in. Good job on that." 

Rispy shrugs and shakes his head. "I haven't done quite so well as I might have hoped. But I'd like to think things are better, if not perfect. Sometimes you just can't save people from themselves." 

"What do you mean?" I ask. "Did Branka manage to do something stupid again?" 

Rispy makes a face, and says, "Perhaps it would be best if I were to start at the beginning, and tell you everything I've been up to since we last spoke." 

"You really don't have any cause to complain about _me_ being verbose," I say with a smirk. 

"True," Rispy says, chuckling. "Let's get something to eat, and then we can settle in for storytime, alright?" 

"It's 'debriefing'," I say. "That makes it sound more official." 

"Whatever you say," Rispy says lightly, rolling his eyes and chuckling a bit. 


	36. A Duster's Struggle

My name is Rispy Brosca, and despite the mark on my face and the dust on my boots, I belong to the Warrior Caste. But I had an advantage that I imagine most dusters lack. Valuable knowledge, immortality, and the skill of several lifetimes. 

I wasn't about to leave well enough alone, or leave myself and my family stuck in Dust Town for life. I took that map you gave me before we left, the one that does darkspawn and not much else, and used it to explore the Deep Roads, scavenging goods and avoiding fighting whenever I could. 

I didn't even generally bother to change my age, despite starting out at age seven. It wasn't really much of a disadvantage, since it made me more agile and capable of getting into tight spaces. I let my physical strength develop naturally, much helped by being able to eat better. And while I sold a number of the things I picked up to be able to eat, I kept the better, more useful items for my own use. 

And then there was Ruck. What must be done to change the fate of one person? I found him, the boy with the hammer, a little older than me. He was wary of me at first. 

"You're a duster, aren't you," Ruck said. "You're a dirty brand. Are you going to rob me? I'll fight you, I will! With my little hammer!" 

I just smiled at him, and assured him, "No, I'm not going to rob you. Not everyone who is casteless is a thug. But the ones who are, do you think that's the life they chose for themselves? Don't you think some of them would rather be smithing, or crafting, or fighting darkspawn, or even cleaning laundry?" 

"But they can't," Ruck says. "You can only do what is supposed to be done by the caste you were born into." 

"And have you never met any other Smith Caste children who were unhappy with their lot in life?" I asked. "Who would rather have been warriors, or merchants, or anything else?" 

Ruck blinks for a moment, and says quietly, "Yes. But I always thought they were just complaining about what the ancestors had chosen for them." 

I chuckled. "The ancestors have a strange way of showing their favor, sometimes. And sometimes wisdom can come from unexpected places. Do you believe in redemption, salroka? Do you think that someone might be more than who their parents were?" 

"Your parents were criminals, though," Ruck said. 

"My mother cleans chimneys," I said. "My father ran off to the surface. And considering the life for him here, I can't really blame him." 

"Well, someone in your ancestry must have committed some sort of horrible crime," Ruck said. 

"Perhaps," I said with a shrug. "But not in recent memory. Not that me or any of my family ever knew about. Should people be blamed forever for the crimes of their ancestors? I don't think it's impossible to redeem oneself for one's _own_ crimes, never mind those you don't even know about." 

"I don't know," Ruck said. "I-- I probably shouldn't even be talking to you." 

I chuckled. "Don't worry. The dust isn't contagious." 

Ruck wouldn't speak to me again for a while after that, but I kept an eye on him when I was in Orzammar. Then one day, he came down to Dust Town, trying to be all sneaky. I think he wanted to talk to me again, but he didn't get far before he was accosted by thugs. 

"This is noplace for you, smith boy," said one of the thugs. "Empty out your pockets, if you know what's good for you." 

"And you will put your weapons down and walk away, if you know what's good for you," I said to the thugs. 

"Rispy?" said the thug in surprise. "Are you _everywhere_? Seems like every time I try to mug someone, you're there! Crazy do-gooder..." 

"Crazy do-gooder with the skills to back up his do-gooding," I pointed out. "Now go, before I teach you a lesson you won't soon forget, since you clearly forgot the last time." 

"You want to fight? There were only three of us last time. This time we have six! Come on, boys, let's show him what happens to do-gooders in Dust Town." 

Ruck was cowering in terror, but they'd cornered him, and he didn't know anyplace to run from there. I said, "I'm sorry that you have to see this." 

The thugs obviously had no idea that I was wearing enchanted leather armor scavenged from the body of a Grey Warden that I'd found in the Deep Roads, and then smeared in dust to make it unrecognizable. Their weapons could hardly scratch me even when they managed to connect. I danced around between them, disarming and disabling them one by one. 

Then, I turned around to see the leader holding a knife to Ruck's throat. "Stand down, or your little friend here gets it." 

"Do _not_ threaten my friends," I said. 

"Or what?" the thug said. 

"Or you will find yourself dead, without any idea why," I said in a low voice. 

"You make big threats, little duster," the thug leader said. "Don't say things you can't or won't back up." 

"Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm afraid to kill," I said. "Just because I haven't been _caught_. Let me make this abundantly clear for you. If you hurt him, I _will_ kill you. And then I will kill you again for good measure." 

"I'm not helpless!" Ruck growled, suddenly punching and kicking at the thug, who was surprised but still a better fighter, and armed. I tried to help Ruck, but blood was spurting out from his neck in an instant. 

"Last mistake you'll ever make," I said coldly. In an instant, my enchanted daggers were in my hands, and I was upon him before he could react. I plunged one dagger into his heart, and said, "You fail." Then, as he died, I cut my own throat with my other dagger, without hesitation. 

I suppose I don't have much place to call _you_ insane. 

* * *

I woke, got dressed, put on my weapons and armor, and quietly slipped out through Dust Town. I wasn't certain where that thug lived, but a few well-placed coppers bought the information. 

He was asleep, half-drunk, and alone. I walked up to him quietly and drew out a dagger, and said softly, "I hereby deem you too stupid and bloodthirsty to live. May you be a better person in another life." And with that, I ended his life. 

Life is cheap in Dust Town. This was the first time I'd so obviously killed someone in such a way that it might be traced back to me, however. And the thugs were terrified. These were the follower sorts, who were too cowardly to do anything without a leader goading them into it. And they didn't know why the leader of their little group had died, what he had done to anger me. But they decided to leave me alone, lest they share in his fate. 

I kept an eye out, and watched Ruck approach cautiously. The other thugs watched me watching. I looked over to them and cast a pointed expression at them, and they slunk off, fading away into the background of Dust Town, leaving Ruck alone. 

"Fancy seeing you here," I said, finally approaching him. 

"I was looking for you," Ruck said. "My parents don't want me talking to you. But I wanted to talk." 

"It's not safe here," I said. "But if anyone bothers you, they will answer to _me_." 

"I saw those thugs," Ruck said. "Why did they seem so scared of you? You're even younger than I am, aren't you? How old are you?" 

"Twelve," I said. "And I could wipe the floor with any of them." 

Ruck looked off to where a couple of the thugs were cautiously watching us from a distance, trying to look subtle and failing at it. "If you're really that good, maybe you _should_ have been born Warrior Caste," Ruck said. "You'd be winning Provings left and right." 

Ruck visited me regularly over the next couple years. And then he was chosen to go along into the Deep Roads with an expedition of warriors. He came down to tell me almost before even telling his mother, excitedly babbling about it. 

"I'd feel better about it if you were watching my back, though," Ruck said. 

I give him a grin and pat him on the shoulder. "I'll be there, salroka. I won't let you out of my sight." 

I shadowed the expedition when they went into the Deep Roads, keeping a watch out for darkspawn and staying out of sight as much as possible. The second night, when they were at camp, I heard raised voices. One of the warriors was yelling at Ruck. 

"You hurry up on this! I need this fixed right away!" 

"I'm working as fast as I can!" Ruck snapped back. "If you don't want it to be worse than it already is, then leave me to my job!" 

I scurried out of my hiding place and leapt between them just as they begin to fight. "Stop it!" I snap. 

"And who in the names of the Paragons do you think you are?" demanded the warrior. 

"Rispy," I replied. "Deep Roads scavenger. I've been shadowing your group." 

"It's just one duster," said one of the other warriors. "He's no threat to us. Probably just looking to pick clean anything we leave behind." 

"I don't see why he cares what we're arguing about, though," said the warrior who had been bullying Ruck. 

"Ruck is my friend, and I will not stand by and see you mistreating him," I said. "You're dwarves, Stone damn it. Save your ire for the darkspawn." 

"No blighted brand-faced scavenger is going to tell _me_ what to do!" 

"Oh, do relax and stop your blustering, Hagar," said another warrior. "You're just going to embarrass yourself even more than you already have. You haven't even killed so much as a nug since we got down here." 

"Say, scavenger," said one of the others. "Don't suppose you happened to see what happened to that group of fresh-killed darkspawn we ran across?" 

"I killed them," I replied. 

"Hah, nug shit. How many more dusters are scurrying about these tunnels?" 

"Just me, so far as I know," I said. "And I killed them myself." 

Another warrior snorted. "Well, if the scavenger thinks he's such a great warrior, how about we make him take point then, huh?" 

"Yeah," said Hagar, nodding in agreement. "Let's see if the brand can fight as big as he talks. It'll be funny watching him get himself killed." 

I shrugged. "Sure, whatever. I know these tunnels. Where are you heading?" 

"We're trying to find Caridin's Cross," said one of them. 

"By the Paragons, why does everyone keep losing that place?" I say, rolling my eyes a bit. "Fine, I know where that is." 

I don't know if this group managed to find Caridin's Cross in the last timeline, nor what leading them to it in this timeline might change, but I came here _to_ change the course of time. I'm surprised that they even gave me a chance to fight. I'm pretty sure they just expected me to die and give them a forewarning of any darkspawn that happened to be ahead. 

Upon breaking camp the next morning, I take point and move on a bit ahead of the group of warriors. They laugh and goad me, making jokes at my expense, but I just shrugged and readied my daggers, and pulled out my map. I had intentionally picked those daggers because they _looked_ old and rusty, despite being enchanted and very well-made. It would take a close examination to reveal that they weren't as shabby as they appeared to be at a glance. 

I carefully followed the map to lead them through the most direct route to Caridin's Cross, avoiding any significant groups of darkspawn along the way. Then, I spotted a group ahead that we won't be able to avoid without backtracking quite a ways. I tucked the map away and brought out my crossbow. I fired off a few quick shots and managed to down three hurlocks before they even got close, the emissary dying before it even noticed me. 

As they were closing in, I shoved the crossbow away and whip out my daggers. The group was down to five genlocks by this point. I spun about, kicking and stabbing at them, careful to fight in such a way to avoid injury as well as getting any of their blood on me if at all possible. There were certainly times that I _wished_ I were a Grey Warden so that I didn't need to be so paranoid about blight infection, without anyone nearby that could perform a Ritual of Purification if need be. 

The warriors came up when they heard fighting, but I was a fair bit ahead of them scouting the tunnels. They only reached me as I was pulling a dagger out of the chest of the last genlock. 

"Five of the blighters dead and not a mark on you?" Hagar said, staring at me. 

"Eight," I said casually, pointing to the hurlocks further down the tunnel and going to see if my bolts could be reused. 

"Sod it," Hagar muttered. 

One of the other warriors laughed. "Ah, Hagar, now you're getting shown up by a brand." 

"He's hardly more than a child!" Hagar protested, shaking his head. "No, no, he must be older than he looks. Just a runt. And there's no way he can be a real duster. He must be a surfacer. Maybe even an actual Grey Warden!" 

"He's got to be a Grey Warden," said another. "We've hardly seen any darkspawn since he took point, and he knew this group was coming." 

"Why would he claim to be a mere scavenger, then?" 

"I dunno. People do strange things sometimes." 

"I really don't care," said the leader. "We're here to find Caridin's Cross. If he can find us Caridin's Cross, I don't care who he is or where he's really from. The way he fights, for all you know, his father or grandfather or something might've been a member of the Warrior Caste who got exiled for serving the wrong house and got caught up in politics." 

"I'm _not_ going to get shown up by a mere duster," Hagar said. "He's got to be a Grey Warden." 

"If you are done speculating," I commented absently, putting the map away again. "There's another group of darkspawn coming this way. About a dozen of them." I pointed in the direction they were approaching from. 

" _Got_ to be a Grey Warden," Hagar muttered. 

It took a few more hours of travel, but I brought them to their destination safely. "Here it is. Caridin's Cross. That wasn't the most direct route to the place, but there were quite a lot of darkspawn that I guided us around." 

By that point, although I had said nothing to confirm of deny being a Grey Warden, the group seemed pretty convinced of it. Having gotten what they came for, they headed back to Orzammar the next morning, and I showed them the best route back while avoiding any large groups of darkspawn along the way. 

"I don't know who you are or where you're from, Rispy," the leader said to me as we approached the gates, "but you probably saved a lot of my men's lives. Whether you're an honored Warden from the surface, or just a duster with the Paragons' own luck, I thank you. And I'll thank you with a pouch full of gold, too." 

* * *

That was where my reputation really kicked off. It became an open secret that no one knew the Deep Roads better than Rispy, and speculation became rampant as to who I really was. I kept the map a much more closely guarded secret, however, as while I might be able to find my way around without it, I could not actually sense the darkspawn, and that was the bigger part of my success. 

Still, it was enough to get some over the years to hire me on as a 'scavenger guide', especially when expeditions that I was along on met far fewer casualties and better results than those that went on their own. 

It was then that Branka, who had been Paragon for six months, hired me on to help her find the Anvil of the Void. 

"I don't care who you are," Branka said. "They say nobody knows the Deep Roads better than you. I'll believe that when I see it. You are going to help me find the Anvil of the Void, and reclaim the glory of our ancestors!" 

I gave a nod, and said, "I can do this for you. But I won't do it for free." 

"Of course," Branka said. "If you can actually find me the Anvil, then you can have all the gold and treasure you could possibly want." 

I shook my head. "No. I want you to get me declared Warrior Caste. And my sister and mother also. You're a Paragon. You can do that, can't you?" 

Branka grunted. "Fine. If I actually get my hands on the Anvil, then your family can be a warrior house serving me." 

"Very well," I say, nodding. 

"Now, you're going to need to get us safely to Ortan Thaig," Branka said. "I think the Anvil will probably be there, and if it's not, there's likely to be clues as to where it actually is." 

I could have told her right then that it wasn't in Ortan Thaig, but in Bownammar, but she'd never have believed me. She'd probably just think I was trying to lead her to her death. 

So instead, I led them to Ortan Thaig first. It was difficult moving that many people through the Deep Roads without attracting too much attention from the darkspawn, but at least they were capable of fighting off the smaller groups without any real trouble. 

Sometimes, however, I had to stop and turn the other way. "There's a huge group of darkspawn that way. Let's backtrack and take this other tunnel. It'll take us a bit longer to get there, but there aren't as many darkspawn that way." 

Branka looked like she was about to argue, but then thought better of it and nodded, and we took the alternative route. 

We reached Ortan Thaig without taking any serious losses, and Branka delved into Caridin's journals and records to learn what she could. 

"Stone damn it," Branka muttered. "The Anvil isn't here!" 

"Where is it, then?" I asked. 

"It's in Bownammar," Branka said. "Caridin's own fortress. Of course! Why didn't I realize this sooner?" 

"But Bownammar will be overrun with darkspawn," Hespith said. "There's no way we'll be able to avoid fighting like we've been doing if we're walking into the middle of the horde." 

"Then fight we shall," Branka said. "I _will_ have that Anvil!" 

And so I guided them through the Deep Roads and to the Dead Trenches. I think I knew, when I went back in time, that I'd find my way back here sooner or later, especially since I was the only one in Orzammar who actually knew where the Anvil of the Void really was. I might have wandered out this way on my own previously if it hadn't been for not wanting to wade through a horde by myself. But I have a small army at my back this time. 

Once we reached the gates of Bownammar, I put the map away. Not much point in it any longer. Everything past this spot was a solid wall of red dots. "Needless to say," I commented, "there are darkspawn inside. A lot of them." 

"I don't think you are really a Grey Warden," Branka said as I led the group to the tunnel breached into the fortress wall. "I've seen that map you look at. Where did you get such a thing?" 

"I got it from a mage who died in the Deep Roads," Rispy said. "He must have been quite clever, although obviously not clever enough." 

We fought our way into Bownammar. Then, when we got to the entrance to Caridin's gauntlet of traps, I held up my hand. "Best be cautious. The area ahead looks different, and it seems that the darkspawn haven't been able to get past that area. Could be traps ahead." 

Branka ordered her people to make camp here. There were definitely casualties by this point, and a few showed signs of blight sickness. This deep into darkspawn territory, there wasn't any help for it. But I like to think that there were fewer than there would have been otherwise. Especially as I'm not letting her throw them all into the traps. 

"I'll go scout ahead and see if I can carefully find a way past the traps," I said. "There might be tricks to avoid triggering things, so don't try to follow me or send anyone else after me until I give the all-clear... or it's been over a day or so and I'm obviously probably dead by that point." 

It didn't take me long to get killed, of course. And I had to fight through Bownammar again each time I failed. The darkspawn were always in the same place, however, and I was able to use that foreknowledge to reduce the casualties at least a bit. 

I did, however, manage to find a way past the golems without waking them, and was eventually able to make it back to the forge room where the Anvil of the Void sat... along with the metal golem that was Caridin. 

"I am Caridin," said the golem. "If you would seek the Anvil, then you must care about my story, or be doomed to repeat my mistakes." 

"I'm not the smith here, I'm afraid," I said. "I'm just a clever scavenger that the Paragon Branka hired on as a guide through the Deep Roads. And frankly, she's an archdemon short of a Blight." 

"Ah," Caridin said. "I see. Please, then, scavenger, she must be convinced to give up her quest for the Anvil. Will you hear out my story?" 

"I don't need to hear your story, and I'm not the one you need to convince," I said. 

"Please help me," Caridin said. "I took the lives of others in order to create my golems. You must destroy the Anvil!" 

"No!" Branka exclaimed, coming up from behind me. Why does she keep doing that? 

"I thought I said you should stay behind, for your own safety," I said. "How did you get past the traps?" 

"I didn't trust you, and rightly so, it seems," Branka said. "I followed you from a distance and watched what you did." 

"I'm not exactly going to pick up the Anvil of the Void, stick it in my pocket, and walk off with it," I said. 

"I will not let you destroy it! It is too valuable! This can help us to reclaim our lost glory! With an army of golems, we could reclaim the thaigs, and destroy the darkspawn once and for all!" 

"You don't know what you are suggesting," Caridin said. "Please, scavenger, help me! She cannot get her hands on the Anvil! She must not be allowed to enslave anymore souls to the Anvil!" 

I sighed and walked slowly over toward Branka. "I'm not going to fight a Paragon, _either_ of you. Can we not avoid bloodshed here? Surely there's some other way to make golems that doesn't require taking lives to do it. Maybe if you worked together, you could find a way." 

"You are a very optimistic young man," Caridin said. "But I'm afraid that what you suggest is not possible." 

"I _will_ have the Anvil, no matter what!" Branka said. 

She pulled a control rod out from her belt. Before she could activate it, I reached in and snatched it out of her hand with long-honed reflexes. 

"What do you think you are doing, brand?" Branka snapped. "You'll be nothing more than dust forever without my help!" 

"I will not attack a Paragon," I said, holding up the control rod. "But I will not stop these golems from showing you what they think of the idea of you enslaving more souls." 

Branka was a skilled smith, but no real warrior. She stood no chance against the might of almost a dozen golems crushing her beneath their stone fists. Tears stung my eyes unbidden as I lowered the control rod. I had really hoped to find a way to avoid that. I had hoped that I could convince Branka to work with Caridin to build a new future together. 

"I am sorry, Branka," I whispered, kneeling beside her broken body. "May the ancestors take you into their embrace." 

"Another life lost to the Anvil, but hopefully the last," Caridin said. "Thank you, scavenger. You showed more honor than I could have expected." 

"Caridin," I said. "I will destroy the Anvil for you. But I would ask one boon of you, if you would. You're a Paragon. Can you get me and my family raised to the Warrior Caste?" 

"You have fought with honor that any warrior should aspire to," Caridin said. "For that, I will see to it that you have the place you have earned. And then, I can at last take my rest of this world, and return to the Stone." 

I frowned. "There's no need for you to die. I couldn't save Branka. I would hate to think that I couldn't save you, either." 

"You already have," Caridin said. "I have lived far beyond my time." 

"Your time is what you make of it," I said. "And there are far more possibilities in the universe than one person might ever dream of. You think that it's impossible to make golems without killing people just because _you_ didn't find a way?" I grinned at him. "But it _is_ possible. I have seen them. And I have a book in my pocket that can tell you how to create life. Come back with me, and live, and it's yours." 

"Where did you ever come upon such a thing?" Caridin wondered. 

"A friend gave it to me, a mage," I said. "Let me just say that it's a long story. And one that I'll be willing to tell you when we're out of the Deep Roads." 

"Very well," Caridin said. "I shall be most interested in hearing your story." 

"Branka's house is outside," I said. "I... don't want to tell them how crazy she really was, or take the blame for her death. Let them remember her well, and not think ill of the dead." 

With that, I destroyed the Anvil of the Void, and we headed out back toward where the others were camped. Caridin told me how to disable the traps that were still active along the way. 

"What happened in there?" Hespith asked. "Where is Branka?" 

I sighed. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. I _told_ her that she should wait, but she came in anyway, and got killed by Caridin's golems." 

"I am truly sorry about her loss," Caridin said. 

Hespith stared at me in shock. "How are we to know that it was not your own hand who felled my dear Branka?" 

"The traps are disabled now," I said. "You can go in and retrieve her body. And you can see quite clearly that she was _not_ harmed by any blade." 

Do you have any idea how hard it was to resist the urge to loot her corpse? I'm sure she might have had some nice things on her, but that would have looked overly suspicious. 

"I will vouch for Rispy's honor," Caridin said. "It was not his wish that she be harmed." 

"And... who or what might you be?" Hespith asked. 

"I am Caridin, once a Paragon of the dwarven people, long ago. Now, thanks to this brave young man, I may now walk free once more." 

They went in and brought out Branka's body so that they could carry it back to Orzammar. Between Caridin's word and the fact that it was pretty clear that I didn't lay a hand on her, they absolved me of responsibility for her death. And they _did_ hear me warn her not to come in yet. 

So we made our way back to Orzammar, minus one Paragon and plus another one. This was really about the best outcome I could have honestly expected, even if I had hoped for better. 

Caridin was true to his word, and he made sure that me and my family were given a caste. But, since it wasn't Branka who granted us that status, we decided to attach ourselves to Caridin instead. 

People still died on Branka's Deep Roads expedition, and some more of them took ill with the blight sickness. But the majority of them made it back in one piece. And Oghren, when we came back with Branka's body, proceeded to stomp off to Tapster's to get drunk. Then again, I'm saying that like that's unusual behavior for Oghren. 

Nor my mother, for that matter. When I went back to Dust Town to tell her and Rica the news, she was falling down drunk as usual. 

"You?" Mother said. "There you are, you useless lump of a dwarf. You ran off again, didn't you. I keep thinking, maybe this time he's run off for good. Run off to leave me and Rica to fend for ourselves. Bah. Even if you wandered into the Deep Roads and got yourself killed, it's not like you were ever going to make anything of yourself anyway. You'll always be dust." 

I rolled my eyes. "Mother. If there's anything in here worth packing, I suggest doing so. We're moving. We've got a house in the commons. Paragon Caridin has made sure we were granted Warrior Caste." 

"Rispy!" Rica said, coming out of the back room. "Oh, where have you been, brother?" 

"I did tell you before I left, didn't I?" I said. "I went with Branka's expedition into the Deep Roads." 

"Oh," Rica said. "By the ancestors, Mother's just going to drink up all the money you made anyway." 

"Rica, we're Warrior Caste now," I said, smiling at her. "We're leaving Dust Town! Mother's too drunk to get it through her head. We have a caste now!" 

"Really?" Rica said, coming over and hugging me tightly. "This is wonderful news! I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you!" There were tears in her eyes. 

As for Caridin, well, with the assistance of some new apprentices like Dagna, and the addition of Gellert's research into replicating Shaper techniques with lyrium, he has managed some success. No new golems as of yet, but they've managed to find a way to make fyoras, although they insist on calling them firestalkers. Maybe the fyoras the Shapers designed were actually modified deepstalkers to begin with. I don't know. 

And yes, it's normally necessary to use magic to Shape, but it's also possible to use machines to do it, too. And Dagna kind of got modified to be able to use magic... that's a closely kept secret at the moment, however. Yes, she was just as thrilled as you would imagine. 

You might have noticed that I've made no mention of the Aeducan brothers in my story. Yeah, I haven't really had a chance to do anything about Bhelen yet. But Trian is still alive, and Bhelen has yet to make his move. My contacts in Dust Town are on alert for any attempt to hire them for an assassination. While I can't predict what my changes might yet affect, I doubt that they're going to change Bhelen's nature or dissuade him from pulling a coup. 

I told Caridin about you, and that we're from other worlds. I didn't mention the time travel immortality part. That bit's too damned dangerous to spread around too much. 

Anyway. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll prefer to stay in Orzammar long enough to make sure that I can avert the Aeducan mess. Scregor deserves better than that. 

What's this? Your invisibility cloak? I didn't even realize you had that with you. Yeah, I imagine that might come in handy. Are you sure you don't need it for anything yourself? Well, alright, I'll be sure to put it to good use. Thank you. 

Farewell, my friend. In the words of your own people, may your magic never falter. 


	37. Touring Ferelden

I leave Orzammar along with Duncan, Kirlin, and the other Grey Wardens. Along the way, I do a bit of work on my map, trying to see if I can at least get Urthemiel's location to show up on it. That would be far preferable to second guessing where the archdemon might be at any given moment. 

As we travel, Tom's snake Patronus appears before us with a message. "We've arrived safely in Kirkwall. There have been a few minor issues. My uncle Gamlen apparently lost my family's estate to cover gambling debts or something stupid like that, so we're living in his hovel. No matter, I can turn the hovel into a mansion anyway, it will just take some work. "Anders has decided to set up a clinic in the sewers for some reason. I'll need to see about making some arrangements to be sure that the templars don't bother him. Jowan keeps hitting on my sister. He'd better not hurt her, or I'll skin him alive. All in all, I'll be here for a little while longer, at least. I'll drop you another message when I'm leaving. Contact me if there's an emergency situation that needs my attention." 

"It sounds like your friend is busy," Duncan comments. 

I nod. "But he'll come if called. At least he'll spend less time worrying if his family is out of immediate harm's way." 

After some more travel, we arrive in Highever and stop to rest. There's a tournament going on when we arrive, and I think I recognize Jory about the competitors. 

"Ser Jory seems like a skilled warrior," Duncan says. "Perhaps he would make for a good addition to the Grey Wardens." 

I make a face, and shake my head quickly. "No." 

"No?" Duncan says, raising an eyebrow and looking to me. 

"Skilled or not, his personality leaves a lot to be desired," I explain. "He's... somewhat lacking in the department of wits, and completely panics when he has to face anything that doesn't just involve hitting something with a sword." 

"I see," Duncan says. "Perhaps I should pass on him, then." 

It's not that Jory is a bad person or anything, but I see no point in him dying needlessly in the Joining when he could just be yet another rank and file soldier, and possibly die there too. But perhaps I can prevent that from coming to pass. 

We continue on in the morning and make our way toward Denerim, and every step of the way, I grow more and more nervous, marking the calendar away and thinking how much time it will be until things may or may not even happen. Rispy will be dealing with Bhelen. My responsibility is toward the archdemon. 

And there, I finally manage it. One blood red dot on my magic map, marked with the name 'Urthemiel'. It looks like she's still in the Deep Roads. 

"That is a most remarkable achievement," Duncan says, examining the map carefully. "Being able to track the movements of the archdemon will allow us to prepare much more effectively, and strike directly when we are able to." 

I give a nod. "If we could get in and destroy the archdemon as quickly as possible, it would save a lot of lives..." 

"However, it will take an army to get past the horde," Duncan says. 

"Or a small band of very determined adventurers," Kirlin says. "Especially ones who cannot actually die." 

"If she stays in the Deep Roads, that might be doable," I say. "But that might be problematic if she moves to the open surface." 

"I do not think relying too heavily upon your abilities would be very prudent," Duncan says. "You say that you do not know what happens to the worlds you die in, and you believe that it continues on as it is? If there is a high probability that you will die, then it will be entirely likely that, from my perspective, the venture will fail." 

I nod. "That's reasonable. I'd prefer to put my own life on the line than those of people who can actually stay dead, but I see where you're coming from." 

"If the archdemon really has knowledge that she shouldn't, then we can't be certain what she will do," Kirlin says. 

"Which is really no different than what the situation would be without your assistance," Duncan says. "However, your foreknowledge and preparations for other factors will no doubt prove invaluable." 

"I'd suggest locking King Cailan in a basement until the archdemon is dead so that he can't do anything stupid and get himself killed," I say with a smirk. "I'll deal with being hanged for treason afterward if it means he'll survive the Blight." 

"I doubt that would work," Kirlin says. "How about making sure that he's bedridden with a mysterious case of dragon pox that equally mysteriously goes away the minute the archdemon is killed?" 

"Brilliant," I say. 

"He does seem rather enthusiastic," Duncan says. "But surely he can't be so foolish--" 

"He can and he was," I say. "It seemed like all he could think about was glory. I have to wonder if he really thought he was going to strike down the archdemon himself." 

"That... would have been bad," Duncan says. "Yes, much as I hate to admit it, perhaps keeping him out of the battle entirely would be the best course of action." 

"I can make certain that it is done discreetly," Kirlin says. 

When we reach Denerim and are walking through the streets of the market district, Duncan notices that someone snatched his money pouch. "Who--" Duncan murmurs, peering about. 

The culprit, however, has already been caught by the guards. "Don't think you're going to get away with this, petty thief. It'll be the noose for you." 

When I take a closer look, I notice that the would-be thief is none other than Daveth. Damn, it looks like just passing him over won't really be an option here. 

"Pardon me," Duncan says. "I am in need of recruits to the Grey Wardens in order to fight the darkspawn." 

"And you would have this petty criminal?" says the guard. 

"Yes," Duncan says. "I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription." 

"Pah," the guard says, releasing Daveth and roughly shoving him toward Duncan. "Fine, take him then. But don't blame me if he swipes your purse again and vanishes." 

"Thank you kindly, ser," Daveth says. "Though I must say I'm surprised you'd stick out your neck for me, after I tried to filch from you." 

"Just, do tell me _why_ you stole my purse," Duncan says. 

"Man's got to eat, after all," Daveth says. "Maybe even been able to get myself a new pair of boots." 

"The Grey Wardens will see to it that our members and associates are suitably fed and equipped," Duncan says. "You need not fear for that." 

"Well, that's good news, at least," Daveth says. "Of course, the bad news would be the likelihood of a horrible death fighting darkspawn, wouldn't it." He chuckles. "Well, at least I can die with my feet warm and my belly full, then." 

As we're heading for the palace, I step up alongside Duncan and put up a quick privacy spell over me, Duncan, and Kirlin. "Daveth won't survive the Joining." 

Duncan scowls. "Did I find _any_ worthwhile candidates who would be able to survive the Joining and become good Grey Wardens?" 

"Not that I know of," I say. "I won't even count me in that, since I shouldn't have even survived the Joining." 

"Daveth can still be good to have along in other ways, though," Kirlin says. "Just call him a Grey Warden and it's not like anyone is going to know that he hasn't officially been through the Joining ritual." 

"I suppose that will have to suffice," Duncan says. "I see no purpose in putting someone through the Joining who I know will not survive." 

We arrive at the royal palace, and I stand back to allow Duncan to speak with Cailan and Loghain about the coming Blight. 

"How can you be certain that there is truly a Blight?" Loghain wonders. "We have not even received reports of any darkspawn sightings!" 

That seems strange. Were there already darkspawn milling about on the surface when Duncan made this trip in the previous timeline? Did Duncan do something different somewhere? Or is the archdemon doing something different? It's impossible to say right now. 

"But Loghain, think of the glory!" Cailan says. "The king of Ferelden riding into battle alongside the Grey Wardens to defeat a tainted god!" He sighs. "I do hope that this is not a false alarm. It would be quite the disappointment to muster an army only to discover that it is merely a minor darkspawn skirmish and not a true Blight." 

"I assure you, Your Majesty, this is indeed a Blight," Duncan says. "I merely came to deliver a warning, however. I do not expect you to act solely upon my feelings." 

"Of course," Loghain says. "We will take the situation under advisement, and if there is truly any sort of darkspawn threat, then the Fereldan army can deal with it. We do not need the Grey Wardens in order to defend ourselves." 

The trouble with repeating the past is having to deal with the same arguments over and over. And while I'm certain that the Grey Wardens have good reasons for the secrecy behind their rituals and connection to the darkspawn, it does needlessly complicate things at times like this. At least the king is far too enamored with the Grey Wardens to have us thrown out or anything. 

The next morning, however, Teyrn Loghain storms into the room where the Grey Wardens are staying. Or rather, the room inside which I have set up my magic tent. I've become slightly spoiled, I think. 

"Why do you have a tent set up in-- Maker, what _is_ this tent?" Loghain says, poking his head inside. 

"Magic," I reply. "Is there a problem, Your Grace?" 

"It would appear that King Cailan has unexpectedly taken ill and is suddenly bedridden," Loghain says. "It seems strangely coincidental for this to occur upon the day of your arrival. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?" 

"Perhaps one might consider it a fortunate turn of events," I reply with a shrug. "At least he won't be getting himself killed by charging into a darkspawn horde." 

"I have my doubts that there is even a darkspawn horde to begin with," Loghain says. "But know this. If Cailan undergoes any permanent harm, or -- Maker forbid -- dies, I _will_ have your head, along with that of all your brethren." 

"Andraste's flaming nipples, how can you think that we had anything to do with the king taking ill?" Daveth says. 

I suppress a snicker that Daveth would speak this way to a teyrn. "Your Grace," I say. "I swear to you, on my honor and my life, that no harm will come to King Cailan, and I shall do everything within my power to keep him safe." 

"See to it that you do," Loghain says, and turns on his heel and leaves the tent. 

"Lovely chappy, isn't he?" Daveth says. 

"Yes, he is," I say a bit dreamily. 

"Uh," Daveth says. "I didn't mean it like _that_. I mean, I'm sure he's not interested in men, seeing's as he was married and he's got a daughter and all. And besides. He's hideous!" 

"He is not!" I retort. 

"Takes all sorts, I suppose," Daveth says. "Me, I'll prefer a lovely young lass. Say, is that pretty slip of an elf you came in with taken?" 

"She's my wife," I reply. 

"Your wife?" Daveth says, raising an eyebrow. "Then what are you doing ogling Loghain?" 

"I can look, can't I?" I say with a smirk. 

"Strange fellow." 

Later, Duncan calls me and Kirlin into the room in the tent that has been converted into a planning room, with a nice big table that my map can be spread out on. 

"We need more Grey Wardens, and most importantly, we need an army," Duncan says. "I am certain that even Loghain will send troops to deal with it once reports of darkspawn actually start coming in. However, I would prefer not to have to rely upon that." 

"We could retrieve the Grey Warden treaties for the Dalish, the Circle of Magi, and the dwarves or Orzammar," I say. "Not that the pieces of parchment actually did any real good. The most use I got out of them was getting Orzammar to let me in the door. Otherwise, if it weren't for their current problems, they probably would have helped us anyway." 

"Still, it would probably be best to retrieve the treaties regardless," Duncan says. "They were still at the old outpost near Ostagar, I take it?" 

I shake my head. "No. They had been taken from there long ago and were in the possession of Flemeth." 

"Flemeth?" Duncan says. "The legendary Witch of the Wilds? Why would she be interested in them?" 

"I have no idea," I say. "My encounter with her was very... strange. But if you think it would be best, then I will go and retrieve the treaties from her." 

"I will accompany you," Duncan says. "I do not believe that I will be able to accomplish much more here at the moment. I will need to figure out where I might be able to find some new recruits. If something goes wrong somewhere along the way, they are the ones who will be needed to end the Blight." 

* * *

I would have preferred simply to Apparate to Flemeth's hut, but if Duncan intends to start recruiting, then he will need to be coming along, and I doubt I would be able to pull him through the Fade with me. He does, however, send them off to gather the other Grey Wardens in Ferelden while we're away. 

Along the way, I do some more work on my map. I add to it the names of my companions in the previous timeline. I'm going to need to keep a watch out for when Sten arrives in Ferelden. There are lives to be saved there by intercepting him as soon as possible. 

I lead Duncan down to Lothering, and from there, into the wilderness to where I remember Flemeth's hut to have been, although if I didn't have Morrigan's dot on the map to guide me, I would probably have wound up hopelessly lost in the Korcari Wilds. 

"Ah, visitors, I see," Flemeth says. "I have been expecting you. Although perhaps not quite so soon, and not quite this particular group. But _you_ are here, Stormseeker." 

"Hello, Flemeth," I say. 

"So, perhaps it is this world that you bear the hope of, or perhaps the next?" Flemeth says. "I can never be certain." 

"It was certainly not the last," I say with a sigh. "I am sorry about your daughter." 

Flemeth shakes her head. "Yours is not the hand that rolls the dice, Stormseeker." She goes into the house and brings out three rolls of parchment, and hands them to me. "Here are your treaties, Grey Wardens." 

"Thank you, Flemeth," I say, taking them. "Although I am not the commander here. Duncan is." I gesture toward him. 

"You are, however, the factor that shapes the world, whether you will it or not," Flemeth says. "It is you who changes the course of destiny." 

"There is no destiny but what we make ourselves," I say. 

"Is that so?" Flemeth says. 

"If it were not so, then there could be no free will," I say. 

"Then tell me, Stormseeker, why does the world fail to change unless you change it," Flemeth asks. "Do other people not have choices as well?" 

"I--" I begin, and then stop and stare at her. She has a point. Why _do_ people always wind up making the same choices unless something I have done influences things to be different? Is there really such a thing as chance at all? Don't things always fall in the same way? 

Flemeth laughs aloud, cackling at my confusion. "Oh, don't worry yourself about it. You have free will, and that's all that's important, isn't it?" 

"Flemeth..." I say. 

"Now, as to the matter of the Blight," Flemeth says. "I have another bit of assistance that I will give you." She gestures to Morrigan, who has just wandered out of the hut. "I will send my daughter Morrigan along with you." 

"What?" Morrigan says. 

"We will take whatever assistance we can get," Duncan says. 

"Who are these people, and why are you casting me out with them?" Morrigan wonders. 

"These are Grey Wardens, my dear Morrigan, come to seek aid against the Blight," Flemeth says. "And without your help, they are surely doomed." 

Morrigan sighs. "Fine, if I must. I will go and pack my things, then." She turns around and heads back inside. 

"How can she wear that out here?" Kirlin wonders. "She must be freezing! I'm practically freezing, and I have a Warming Charm up!" 

As we head north back toward Lothering, Morrigan says, "This was not how I had intended to explore the world." 

"Sometimes, perhaps we might never wander out from the safety of our homes until something happens to kick us out of our complacency," I comment thoughtfully. "I suppose there are worse ways to have the outside world suddenly beating on your door. Like getting suddenly killed and having no idea what just happened." 

"I doubt that anyone could have managed that, given my mother's powerful protections," Morrigan says. 

I chuckle. "I didn't necessarily mean you. You've been more fortunate than some." 

Or has she really? Is there really any such thing as luck, or chance, or fortune? No, I need to stop this line of thought. It'll give me a headache. Like having Time Magic isn't enough of a headache in and of itself without overthinking it. 

"So, Duncan, what's the plan?" I ask. 

"I'm thinking that we shall take a trip around Ferelden, looking for potential recruits for the Grey Wardens and calling up what aid we can get with the treaties," Duncan says. 

"Sounds good," I say. 

"What do you think our chances of success might be?" Duncan asks. 

"I have no idea," I say. 

"And what of other potential allies or recruits?" Duncan says. "You mentioned something about a Qunari and a Chantry sister, before." 

"Sten hasn't arrived in Ferelden yet," I say. "And Leliana... We can pick her up in Lothering. Provided that the Maker has told her to help us yet." 

"The Maker?" Duncan says, raising an eyebrow. 

"I did mention that she's slightly crazy," I say. 

We arrive in Lothering, and approach the Chantry. Leliana's dot on my map indicates that she's inside, so we go in and I glance around for the redheaded sister. 

"Sister Leliana?" Duncan says, going up to her. 

"Yes?" Leliana says. "May I help you with something?" 

"You can help us stop a Blight," I say brightly. 

"What?" Leliana says. "Me?" 

"Yep," I say. 

"Why me?" Leliana wonders. 

"Because the Maker said so?" I say, shrugging. 

Leliana huffs. "Now you are just mocking me. Did the other sisters put you up to this?" 

"Not at all," I say, shaking my head. 

"I really don't know what his interest in you is," Kirlin says with a smirk. "But there's a Blight just begun, and while I've yet to see a darkspawn myself, I understand that this is a bad thing, to say the least. We are currently seeking allies to help against it." 

"I'm sure there are plenty of others who might help..." Leliana says uneasily. "I'm just a lay sister here at the Chantry. Perhaps some of the templars might be willing to go?" 

"So, I take it that the Maker hasn't told you you should help us yet," I say, shrugging. "Alright. We'll probably be back around here eventually, but if you change your mind, you can always meet up with us in Denerim. We'll definitely be heading back there." 

Leliana blinks at me. "Uh... if you say so." 

I flash her a smile, wave, and head out of the Chantry. 

"I believe you were behaving in a more insane manner there than she was," Duncan comments. 

"It happens," I say. 

We move on to Redcliffe next, and stop in at the castle to meet up with Gellert. 

"How are things going here?" I ask. 

"Great," Gellert says. "The kid's smart, you know. I can tell you right here that he _knew_ what he was doing last time, even if he wasn't certain on what the consequences would be. It's just, well, Jowan was an idiot." 

"I think that pretty much goes without saying. He means well, for the most part, but Maker does he do some stupid things without thinking them through sometimes. Will you be alright here?" 

"Pssh," Gellert says, waving a hand. "I'm fine. Relax. Go, have fun. Besides, I brought some reading material." 

"Not reading material involving demons, I hope," I say. 

"What, do I look like Jowan?" Gellert says with a smirk. "No, just reading material I gratuitously stole from the Circle Tower. Don't worry, they won't miss it anyway. It was collecting dust, and I replaced the books with blank copies. Nobody's likely to even look in them anytime soon to realize that they were taken." 

Morrigan chuckles. "I like this one." 

"Sorry, honey, I'm gay," Gellert says. 

Morrigan snorts. "I did not mean like that. I don't suppose you happened to run across a book while you were in the tower that once belonged to my mother. Tis a black leather-bound book marked with a tree on the cover." 

Gellert digs around in his bag for a moment, pulls out a book, and hands it to her. "There you go." 

"What, just like that?" Morrigan says, taking it and glancing through it. "Yes, this is the book in question!" 

"Enjoy," Gellert says. "I particularly liked the soul rituals." 

"I am surprised that you could make much of this sort of magic at all, given that you were trained in the tower prison," Morrigan says. 

Gellert snorts softly. "Oh, believe me, I know _far_ more about magic than they would ever deign to teach in the Circle of Magi." 

"Speaking of which," Duncan says, approaching us. "You should be aware that our next stop is Kinloch Hold. Do any of you wish to remain ashore while I make my visit there?" 

Kirlin makes a face. "I'd better, most likely. They'd recognize me as a runaway, and I have no desire to allow them to imprison me again. Not like they _could_ , anyway. If they tried, I'd just fly out the windows." 

"You? Can fly?" Morrigan says. "Is that some spell they teach in the Circle?" 

Kirlin laughs. "Not at all." She shifts into a cat and leaps onto the table with a mew, then shifts back into a young elf sitting on the table instead. "That's _your_ sort of magic, dear Morrigan." 

"I'll admit I am surprised to see it of a Circle-trained mage," Morrigan says. "Or did you spend some time among the Dalish as well, perhaps?" 

Kirlin chuckles. "Like Gellert here, I know far more about magic than they'd ever teach in the Circle, but I don't know as much as him. I do like shapeshifting, though. I need to learn some more forms." 

I have so dearly missed this wonderful woman. The way she latches onto every bit of knowledge she comes across and runs with it, it's simply marvelous. After spending so many years among the Qunari, I'm not used to seeing Kirlin's face and thinking of it as Cassie. Two dear friends who I had believed were different people, turning out to be the same soul, and perhaps I should not have been surprised. 

And yet, there's a dreadful feeling gnawing at the back of my mind, a fear of losing her again. But I can never truly lose her, can I? I can always seek her out in eternity. 


	38. The Endless Battle

As we leave Redcliffe and head north along Lake Calenhad, I notice that Urthemiel's dot has started to move. She has left the Deep Roads and appears to be heading straight toward us. 

"That's not a good sign," Duncan says. "I wonder whether the archdemon has a destination in mind... or if _we're_ the intended destination." 

"Lexen, you always seem like you're having such horrible nightmares," Kirlin says quietly. "Have you thought about using Dreamless Sleep potions?" 

"I used them, at one point," I say. "I haven't bothered anymore. They don't help as much as you'd think, and the local ingredients are... slightly toxic." 

When we arrive at the Lake Calenhad docks, Kirlin and Morrigan opt to stay ashore, so I go across to the island where Kinloch Hold is with Duncan. 

"The Grey Wardens need troops?" Knight-Commander Greagoir says. "I suppose it is your right. Irving and I will see what we can do." 

"Not just that, Knight-Commander," Duncan says. "The archdemon has emerged from the Deep Roads and is coming this way. At this rate, we will be awash in darkspawn within the week." 

"Maker have mercy on us," Irving says. "Are you certain of this, old friend?" 

"I am," Duncan says. "My brother Warden here," he gestures toward me, "has developed a means by which to track the movements of the archdemon. I trust in the accuracy of his information." 

"We may be able to take advantage of the situation, however," I say. "If we can muster a strong enough force on short notice, we could end the Blight here and now, before it has even properly begun." 

"But in order to do that, we're going to need everything you can offer us," Duncan says. "And Highever isn't far from here. Added to the troops there, we might just be able to bring down the archdemon." 

"There will be casualties, there's no help for that," I say, frowning. "But far fewer, perhaps, than there would be otherwise." 

"We'll see what we can do," Greagoir says. "If the darkspawn are likely to be coming so close, so soon... We have work to do." 

We leave the Circle Tower the same day, making our way quickly north toward Highever and continuing to watch where the archdemon is going. Still on a direct course toward our location. I'm more than a little worried about the prospect of having to fight the thing again so soon. 

When we arrive at Highever, Duncan goes in to speak with Teyrn Cousland about rallying the troops. There will be soldiers and archers, and the mages and templars will be arriving shortly. I send my dragon Patronus to contact Gellert and Tom, and ask them to come and help. 

Kirlin massages my shoulders. "You're so tense. Relax. We'll be alright." 

"Just... to think this might really be it," I say. "Urthemiel is coming. And we might just be able to stop her this time. And... then what?" 

Kirlin chuckles. "And then we go and do whatever we want. Together." She smiles at me warmly and gives me a soft kiss. 

The darkspawn start arriving ahead of the archdemon, not in massive clumps at first, but in drips and clusters, quickly growing in number and frequency. Many of the civilians in Highever have been evacuated in the days prior to the attack, being sent east to Amaranthine, although many more have taken up arms to defend their homes. 

Then, on the day before Urthemiel is upon us, Tom Apparates in with Gellert. 

"Never fear," Gellert says. "Your reinforcements have arrived. Everything is well in hand now." He grins. 

Knight-Commander Greagoir, however, notices us and comes over. "Hmm, wait. The two of you look familiar. Kirlin? Gellert?" 

"Good day, Knight-Commander," Kirlin says. 

"I did not expect to see runaway apprentices here," Greagoir says. "What are you doing here?" 

"Helping to defend against the darkspawn," Kirlin says. 

"And where are Jowan and Anders?" Greagoir asks. "Did they not escape with you?" 

"They're out of your reach, and staying out of trouble," Tom says. 

"And who might you be?" Greagoir says. "Aiding apostates will get you in trouble, you know." 

Tom grins at him. "I, as the others with me, are here by the request of the Grey Wardens in order to assist against the darkspawn. If you would seek to raise your hand against us, templar, then I would request that you wait until the battle is over to do so, provided that any of us survive this day." 

Greagoir gives a nod, and says, "I will... overlook this for the moment, for the sake of fighting the darkspawn." 

"Thank you, Knight-Commander," Kirlin says, inclining her head toward him politely. 

I paranoidly take a nap as Urthemiel approaches, trying to be as alert and well-rested as possible before the battle. It's a useless effort, however. Although I _sleep_ , I get no rest, from seeing the corrupted dragon's face in my dreams, hearing her shrieks resounding in my mind. 

I wake from my fitful sleep, and go out to stand with the defenders, the mages ready to bear down upon the horde with the power of the elements, standing behind rows of archers, and soldiers and militia before them. The sky is dark and ominous, and it seems like the sun hasn't even dared to rise in days. Black clouds roil as the darkspawn horde approaches like rumbling thunder. 

And there she is, Urthemiel in all her dark majesty, wings beating against the sky and splitting the air with an ear-shattering screech that chills me to the bone. She flies straight toward me, ignoring the arrows zipping through the air and the spells being flung at her. 

I hesitate, staring at her magnificence. Too slow, too late. Talons rip through my chest. 

* * *

I wake with a groan and rub my eyes. I have a feeling that this is going to be a long day. 

I return to the firing line, and Gellert says to me, "You really are an idiot sometimes, aren't you." 

"Shut up," I say with a snort, digging out my own copy of the Elder Wand from my bag. I'm going to need the extra firepower. 

"You know," Gellert comments. "With some more time duping and contriving some battles to gain mastery of them, we could equip all of us with copies of those." 

"Gellert..." I say. 

"What?" Gellert says. "It's just something to think about." 

"Later," I say firmly. 

The archdemon returns, unpredictable. I have no idea what she is trying to do, and her behavior is variable and seemingly nonsensical. Sometimes she flies in and kills me right away, other times she rampages through Highever and kills me through collateral damage, other times she ignores me entirely. Once, the darkspawn even go out of their way to avoid attacking me at all, as though I don't even exist, or they think I'm one of them. 

After many repetitions, I'm running purely on lyrium and adrenaline, and mental exhaustion starts wearing at me. Unless something changes, there's no way that we're going to be winning this battle. 

My only hope is that in the failed timelines, even if the archdemon was not immediately pulled back upon my death, that at least she would possibly be easier to kill. I hope. 

"This isn't working, Lexen," Kirlin says. "We need to try something else." 

"I'm open for suggestions!" I cry. 

Despair and exhaustion weigh heavily upon my mind. I don't know how Kirlin manages to seem so calm and cool even under these circumstances. Always ready. Always thinking. 

Kirlin transforms into a crow and flies up toward the archdemon. What in the Void? She's far too small to hope to do any real damage that way. But she zips in and pecks at the dragon's eyes. Urthemiel shrieks and her flight becomes erratic. 

The dragon snaps madly at the crow, unable to catch the small, agile bird in her mouth. I shapeshift as well and fly up to try to help and give Urthemiel an additional distraction. 

As I draw close, I suddenly become dizzy, my head spinning. I'm tired. Exhausted. And Urthemiel is calling to me. I whirl around out of control. I forget how to fly. I crash into the ground. 

* * *

I wake, and make a face, and dig out another lyrium potion and drink it down. Or really, the same lyrium potion for the umpteenth time today, most likely. 

"What happened?" Kirlin asks. 

"I think I'm losing it," I say. 

"Do you need to get out of the loop?" Kirlin asks. 

"We can always Apparate away if necessary," Tom says. 

I hate to just retreat and abandon these people like this. But if there's really no way that we can win, there may not be any other option. 

There are always choices. I just need to look, and see what they are. 

"I want to try something first," I say. 

I look to the oncoming dragon in desperation. Desperation? Dragons don't get desperate. They roar, and show the world their might! A dragon does what a dragon must, and they don't let anything hold them back. 

Wings upon the wind. Fire upon the sky. Flying in the storm. 

I go through the routines of the shapeshifting spells Morrigan taught me long ago. My blood burns, fire in my veins, lightning in my nerves. 

Why am I trying to transform as though changing into a sort of being that I am not? I _am_ a dragon! This is the very essence of my being! The blood of dragons flows through my heart. I am as much dragon as I am human. This is what I was always meant to be. 

_I am the Heir of the Children of the Dragon's Blood._

And I will not be defeated. 

My body shifts and changes. I shed my tiny, feeble human form, and for the first time, I take on my true form. 

Mage fire shimmers purple against my deep blue scales. I launch myself into the air with my strong haunches. I catch the wind beneath my majestic wings and take to the sky. 

Urthemiel almost seems to pause in midair to gaze at me appraisingly. I can feel her in my mind. But I will not waver. My magic will not falter. I let the tide wash over me and leave me unchanged. 

I clash together with Urthemiel in the sky, biting and clawing, trading blue lightning for purple fire. At last, an even battle. Dragon versus dragon. 

One very old, powerful, corrupted dragon versus one very young neophyte, more specifically. I do still have the advantage of being slightly more agile, physically, but I'm inexperienced enough with this form that that isn't much of an advantage. 

Urthemiel brings me crashing to the ground with a massive attack, and swoops in to pin me there. The archers and mages continue to fire upon the archdemon, and she's clearly starting to feel the pain. 

A pair of crows flit in, swiping at Urthemiel's eyes and distracting her. I roar, and take advantage of the situation, snapping my jaws in and clamping onto Urthemiel's wingbone. It's tougher than it looks, but I refuse to let go. Urthemiel tries to shake me off and pushes at me with her paws. Then, with a satisfying crunch and the tang of blood on my tongue, the bone breaks in my mouth. 

Urthemiel screeches in pain, but she isn't going anywhere, not now. I reach over and shred her delicate wing membraces with my claws for good measure, just to make sure she stays down. 

I am, however, badly wounded myself, as I realize that not all the blood in my mouth belongs to the archdemon. I slink a bit away from Urthemiel, the pain catching up to me as victory feels within reach. 

"Try not to move too much," Kirlin says, suddenly beside me in elven form. "Duncan's on his way. I'll see if I can get you healed up a bit. Don't try to change back in this condition." 

Right now, I would like nothing better than to sleep. But I can't sleep now. Not yet. It's not over yet. Just a little longer. Then I can sleep for a week if I want. A sweet, sweet sleep without the constant clawing of an archdemon in my mind. 

"Well done, Lexen," Duncan says. "I will strike the final blow, now. You have all done very well. I am proud of all of you." 

Duncan raises his sword, and plunges it into the archdemon's head. A fountain of light erupts from the dragon's body like a geyser. 

Kirlin is healing me, but I still hurt. I hurt down to my very soul. 

"Alright," Kirlin says, barely audibly. "You can change back now. You should be alright." 

I concentrate with considerably more effort than should normally be required, and shift back into human form. 

Duncan is standing up, looking confused. "I don't understand... That should have ended it. What happened? What went wrong?" 

I stare at him blankly for a few moments, but Kirlin is more on the ball than me at the moment. She snatches up my map and peers at it intently. 

"There's still a dot labeled 'Urthemiel' here," Kirlin says. 

"Fuck," I mutter. 

A hurlock approaches me, and I'm too shocked to even defend myself as it runs me through with its sword. 

* * *

I get up and down a lyrium potion in one motion, still swearing intently in my mind. My heart pounds as I rush out to where Duncan is, and I'm not the only one doing so, either. Kirlin, Tom, and Gellert hurry up as well. 

"Emergency meeting!" I gasp. 

"What's going on?" Duncan asks. "The battle will begin soon. The archdemon is almost upon us." 

"You killed the archdemon, and she didn't die," I say. "Neither did you." 

"What?" Duncan says. "How is this possible?" 

"I don't know!" I say. I wanted to sleep, I was so tired, but now I'm in full-bore panic. 

"The Soul Bond," Kirlin says quietly. 

"Of course, it has to be," Gellert says, nodding in agreement. 

"We will need to perform a Ritual of Purification in order to break the bond so that the archdemon can be killed," Tom says. 

"I knew we should have done so sooner," Kirlin says. "I just hope it actually works." 

"Why would it behave like this?" I ask as Kirlin hurriedly starts making preparations for the ritual. "Whenever any of you are killed, your soul just hangs around as a ghost until I reset." 

"Most likely because the archdemon can and will possess a new body while it's in that ghost form," Kirlin says. 

"Why did my blow not destroy the archdemon's soul, however?" Duncan asks. 

"I can only speculate that it has something to do with the Soul Bond," Tom says. "Perhaps the connection to Lexen's soul and magic enabled the archdemon to avoid destruction somehow. I do not have time to analyze this right now." 

Gellert snatches the map up and looks it over. "Kirlin," he says. "I think you can take your time on that and do it right. Urthemiel is moving away. I guess she didn't particularly like being stabbed in the head with a sword." 

"Fuck," I whisper. "All of that, for nothing?" 

"We just need to remove this bond," Kirlin says. "Then we can try again." 

"I'm sorry," I say to Duncan. "I'm starting to think I'm more of a liability here than a help of any sort." 

"There is no need to apologize," Duncan says. "No one could have known that this would happen. And if it weren't for you, then I and many others would be dead at Ostagar." 

"Let's just get this bloody ritual over with so that we can kill that blighted dragon," I mutter. 

Even though the archdemon is now moving away, it seems that many of the darkspawn haven't gotten the memo and continue to attack Highever. Kirlin gets the ritual set up with the assistance of Tom and Gellert, and they make ready to perform it at noon. There's no sunlight to speak of, but that doesn't stop their insistance that the time of day is important and that light rituals are preferably done at dawn or noon. 

Seven silver bowls full of water, three mages chanting in a long-forgotten tongue in an open market square in Highever, and damn any templars that might be wondering what they were doing. 

Actually, damn Greagoir, for that matter. "What is going on here?" 

"Greagoir," Irving says, putting his hand on Greagoir's shoulder. "Perhaps it would be best not to interrupt. That looks to be a very delicate ritual." 

"I am concerned about any sort of ritual the apostates might be performing," Greagoir says. 

"I could be wrong, but I do not believe that Kirlin Surana, of all people, would be summoning demons in public," Irving says. 

"She might have been your star pupil once, but she ran away from the tower and she's an apostate now," Greagoir says. 

"And she is also putting her life on the line in order to defend Ferelden against the Blight," Irving says. 

"Still--" Greagoir begins, just as the chanting reaches its climax. 

Seven pillars of light beam down from the darkened sky, or perhaps _into_ the darkened sky. Urthemiel roars in my mind, battering darkness against light. Light like fire rushes through my body, searing through my veins like molten lava. Is this what a vampire in sunlight feels like? There's screaming, and it's not just Urthemiel's. 

It's all over in a moment, but it felt like eternity. 

"Ah, I believe they're finished now," Irving says. 

"What were you _doing_ to this poor Warden?" Greagoir demands of Kirlin. "The way he was screaming, it sounded like torture!" 

"Ritual of Purification," Kirlin replies. 

"And..." I say, rubbing my head. "It didn't work. It didn't even work. There's more darkspawn on the way, by the way." I don't know what the damned ritual did, but the tugging at my soul does not seem to have abated in the least. 

"Fuck," Tom utters, prompting everyone present to stare at him. 

"Really, Tom?" Gellert says. "Let's all be fucking pottymouths today. Fucking fuck fuck." 

"Shut the fuck up, Gellert," Tom snaps. 

"What seems to be the problem?" Irving says. "Was there something wrong with your ritual?" 

Kirlin shakes her head. "No. We performed it perfectly. There's a few factors that might be at play that lessened its effectiveness, however. We're not on a node, for one thing, and the blight incursion might be interfering with it as well. Also, with all the fighting that we've been doing lately, none of us are at full strength at the moment." 

"Let's try it at the Urn of Sacred Ashes instead," Tom suggests. 

"You're joking," Greagoir says. "You know where the Urn of Andraste's Ashes is?" 

"It's up on a mountain full of some very antisocial dragon cultists," Gellert says lightly. "They're kind of crazy and think Andraste's been reborn as a dragon." 

Greagoir sighs. "I probably should not simply allow you to go. But given the fact that there is a Blight going on and you are assisting the Grey Wardens, I will overlook all of these apostates running around." 

"Most of the capable mages in the Circle are already out of the tower and fighting as well," Irving points out. 

"Yes..." Greagoir says. "The templars will be focusing their efforts on countering darkspawn casters at the moment. Do not give us reason to have to divert our attention." 

"Of course, Knight-Commander," Kirlin says cordially. 

"If it's all the same to the rest of you..." I say groggily, "I would like to pass out and sleep for a week." 

"Go ahead," Tom says. 

"Thanks," I say, and I promptly pass out. 


	39. Which Witch

I wake from fitful nightmares that don't even really fade from my waking mind. I sit up and rub my head, wondering how long I was asleep, and absently casting a quick spell to check the time and date. Nine days? Maker, that's more than I'd expected. 

"Good, you're finally awake," Kirlin says. "Here, let's get some actual food and drink into you. Can you walk?" 

"I'm alright," I say. "Just a little light-headed, is all." 

She leads me out into the main room of the tent and brings out a pile of delicious smelling food to me. My stomach growls. I'm not surprised to be ravenous after nine days. After that long, Kirlin was probably using magic just to keep me alive. 

As I hungrily devour everything that was put before me, Kirlin pulls out her wand and says, " _Expecto Patronum._ " A silver bird emerges, and she says, "Tell Gellert he's awake." The Patronus zips off to deliver its message. 

Before I'm even finished eating, Gellert steps into the tent. "Sleeping Beauty finally decided to wake up, huh?" 

"Are you hitting on me?" I say dryly. 

Gellert snorts softly. "If I were hitting on you, I'd be a lot less obvious about it." 

"What?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Never mind," Gellert says, smirking. 

"Good, he's awake," Tom says, coming into the room. "Now we can discuss what we're going to do about this." 

"Can we at least wait until I'm done eating?" I say. 

"No," Tom says firmly. "Alright, here's the plan. We're going to gather a circle of seven mages and perform a Ritual of Purifcation at the Urn of Sacred Ashes on Wintersend." 

"And I already told you, I don't think that's going to work," Kirlin says. "We've already purified any trace of the taint in him. The remaining bond is not really any different from the ones _we_ have to him." 

"Not to mention the _other_ dragon that he's still bonded to," Gellert adds. "The one who _hasn't_ been causing any problems." 

"Enough of this bickering!" Tom says. "We will bring the three of us, Morrigan, my father and sister, and Anders. That should be more than sufficient to the task." 

" _Lexen_ isn't the one who needs a Ritual of Purification," Kirlin says. "The archdemon is." 

"And you'll be damned if you're going to get Urthemiel to agree to that," Gellert says with a smirk. "I'm just saying, we need to find another ritual." 

"Don't tell me, in all this time, you still haven't come up with a way to break a Soul Bond?" I say. 

"The question isn't whether there's a way," Gellert says. "It's that a way that will work on a corrupted ancient dragon that's the problem. That limits our options somewhat. Even something like the Killing Curse won't work on her." 

"Killing her yourself might work," Kirlin says quietly. 

"No," Tom snaps. "I absolutely forbid this." 

I finish up my breakfast, or at least, annoyance at the arguments has finally outweighed my hunger. "Wouldn't killing her kill me too?" I ask Kirlin. 

Kirlin gives a faint nod. "Most likely. Maybe. I don't know." 

"It's not worth the risk," Tom says. "If there's even the slightest possibility that something may cause permanent damage or the destruction of the soul, I will not allow it." 

"Somebody's afraid of dying," Gellert says lightly, looking up at the ceiling. 

"And I will think you insane if you claim that you are not," Tom says. "I came into this for the sake of immortality, and I will not allow goodwill or principle to get in the way of that." 

"Tom, that's horrible," Kirlin says. 

"You can think what you like," Tom says. "But I will stand by and watch this world burn a thousand times over before I even consider sacrificing my existence for it." 

"Even your sister, Tom?" Kirlin says quietly. 

Tom sighs. "Yes. Because... it doesn't matter. There will always be another timeline. Another chance, another opportunity. We have all of eternity to work with." 

"Then let's figure out a way in _all of eternity_ that we can do this," Gellert says. 

"You know, it's strange," Tom says, looking off at nothing. "Before, in another world, in another life, I sought to split my soul into seven pieces in order to gain immortality. Six Horcruxes. And the effort made me completely insane. And now, Lexen has six Soul Bonds." 

"And is completely insane," Gellert says with a smirk. "Although I daresay he was already insane in the first place." 

"Unfortunately, most of the methods that I researched that could break Soul Bonds either disrupted _all_ of a person's bonds, or required killing the subject," Tom says. "And the latter would general require being done by a mage, rather than simply making Duncan stab a dragon in the head." 

"And how many worlds might be saved by ending this?" Kirlin says quietly. "How many lives?" 

"And I am, indeed, attempting to find a solution that does not end in my own destruction," Tom says. 

I sigh, and lean back in the chair. "What makes us so damned important?" I mutter. "Why do we seem to be the only beings that have more than an illusion of free will?" 

"Why are we more important than the whole of the multiverse?" Kirlin wonders. 

"I've got a simple solution that won't give Tom an apoplexy," Gellert says. "We could just leave this world. Go to a time or place that does not have a Blight, and search for a solution there." 

"Such interesting things that you are discussing," Morrigan drawls, strolling out of a back room. 

"We forgot to put up a privacy spell, didn't we," I comment. 

"And what, precisely, is it that you intended to keep a secret from me?" Morrigan says. "Other worlds? Time travel? Soul magic?" 

"For all that we try to keep this a secret, I feel like I've explained this all a million times already," I say. 

"Tis no matter," Morrigan says, waving it off. "I was merely intending to tell you about a fascinating ritual that I came across in the book that Gellert gave to me." 

"I didn't see anything in there that might provide a reasonable solution to the current problem," Gellert says. 

"Then you clearly did not look closely enough," Morrigan says. "Most likely, you were blinded to a solution that only a witch would see." 

"Fine, then," Gellert says. "Praytell, what solution did _you_ have in mind?" 

"We're open to any suggestions," Kirlin says. 

"A bit of explanation is in order," Morrigan says. "From what I have read and have been able to determine, it seems that my dear mother may have found a means of immortality by raising daughters and taking over their bodies when they are old enough." 

"A reasonable solution," Tom says. 

"Tom, you're looking entirely too thoughtful at that," Kirlin says. 

"Purely an academic interest," Tom assures her. "It's an impractical solution for several reasons--" 

Morrigan glares, and then continues, "I found a ritual that would allow ending the threat of the Blight without anyone needing to die in the process. It would purify the soul of the Old God, and allow it to be reborn into a child conceived at the time of the ritual..." 

"Oh," Gellert says, making a face. " _That_ ritual." 

"So you did run across it," Morrigan says. "Was it entirely unpleasant to read for one who prefers the company of other men?" 

"Oh, shut up," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"What exactly would we need to do for this ritual?" I ask. 

"On the night before slaying the archdemon, we would need to lie together--" Morrigan begins. 

"Wait, us?" I say. "You mean, you and me?" 

"Yes, how dense are you?" Morrigan says, rolling her eyes. "We need to conceive a child, after all. Are you unfamiliar with how this process works?" 

"Er, no," I say. 

"This wouldn't do anything to remove the bond between Lexen and Urthemiel," Kirlin says. 

"It _would_ , however, stop the Blight," Morrigan says. 

I'm starting to wonder if Soul Bonding was such a wonderful idea in the first place. And that's a strange thought for me to be having at this stage in the game. 

"This would seem to be a reasonable solution to the current problem," Tom says. 

"All I ask is that, once all is said and done, you do not seek me out," Morrigan says. "I will go and raise the child as I see fit." 

"Morrigan," I say. "That, however, is just unreasonable." 

"Is it?" Morrigan says. 

"It would be bad enough if it were merely a simple donation of genetic material," I say. "Although even in such a case, I would still like the opportunity to know my child. However, what's more, this being's soul is bound to me. When I leave this world, I will be taking her with me. There is no question of that -- it will happen regardless of whether anyone involved wishes it to or not." 

"What is it that you want with this child, Morrigan?" Kirlin asks. 

"That is my own business," Morrigan says. 

"You are involving us," Kirlin says. "That makes it our business." 

"No, I am involving Lexen," Morrigan says. 

"Anything that involves Lexen involves me," Kirlin says. "I _am_ his wife." 

"Would you object to him performing this ritual with me out of petty jealousy?" Morrigan asks. 

"Of course not," Kirlin says. "I simply wish to know what your intentions are. And if you cannot or will not answer, then I am going to have to assume the worst." 

"And what, praytell, is the worst?" Morrigan asks. 

"That you are intending to use the baby's blood and soul to devour all of our souls, gain immortality and omnipotence, and take over the multiverse," Kirlin replies without missing a beat, prompting everyone in the room to stare at her for several long moments. 

"Why would you even think of such a thing?" Morrigan wonders. 

"And here she looks like the sweet, innocent one," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"Assuming this is not what you mean to do, then I would know what your intentions are," Kirlin says. 

Kirlin and Morrigan fix one another with a piercing gaze for several long moments. One can almost feel the sparks flying in the air with the tension in their expressions. It's a battle without words or spells, but it's a battle indeed. 

"I intend to find an intact Eluvian to leave this world and explore the multiverse," Morrigan replies. 

"An Eluvian?" Gellert says. "I read about those... but the information was sadly incomplete and sketchy in many places. Can they really allow access to other worlds?" 

"Yes," Morrigan says. 

"You know, if you came with us, you would not need to do this," I say. "We can go to anyplace, anytime. And we've already been to several places that might interest you." 

"I'm just surprised that she knew what she wanted to do right away," Kirlin says. "Unless, of course, she just thought that up on the fly so that it would sound less horrible than what I came up with." 

"Where's Urthemiel now?" I wonder, looking around for the map. 

Tom pulls it out, and spreads it out on the table. "Down in the Korcari Wilds, it looks like." 

"So I suppose we'll be winding up in Ostagar again after all," I say. 

"We will still need an army to reach her," Kirlin says. "Even if you can turn into a dragon, you can't take on the entire horde by yourself, or even the archdemon herself." 

I give a nod. "I won't dispute that point." 

"He can turn into a dragon?" Morrigan says, raising an eyebrow, then shakes her head. "No, I think I will not question any bizarre things that any of you might say. You keep saying things that all the rest of you know about, and assume that anyone who should be able to hear you knows all about it already as well." 

"Should I write up York Notes for you?" Gellert says. 

"I have a feeling that's another Muggle reference," I comment. I smirk and turn to Morrigan. "You don't know what we're talking about, and we don't know what Gellert is talking about half the time, either." 

"I do have to wonder why you bonded with those dragons so easily," Kirlin muses. "Especially when it took a complicated blood magic ritual performed on a node on Halloween for the rest of us." 

"I really don't know," I say. "Perhaps it's because they are dragons?" 

"You do seem to have an affinity toward them," Gellert says. 

"The bond isn't precisely the same," Tom says. "It's crude, a quick and dirty ritual. That is, in part, why it's so strong. It's a brute force method heavily reliant upon the potency of dragon's blood. Admittedly, it's a method that should have occurred to me sooner." 

"You could do this with _my_ blood, too?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"You do have dragon's blood," Tom says. "With everything that entails. Ordinary human blood isn't strong enough for a ritual like that to work." 

Morrigan says, "I think I would prefer not to inflict any child of mine upon the likes of all of you." 

"Ah, we're not so bad," I say. 

"Especially the likes of Gellert," Morrigan adds. 

"You really need to meet Alistair," I say. "Then you'll love us." 

"I am reconsidering offering this ritual," Morrigan says. 

"Don't bother," Kirlin says. "I could just do it instead, after all. Remember, Gellert did read the same book." 

"Hmm, that does sound like a good idea," I say. 

Morrigan sighs. "You are going to take my information and use it for yourself?" 

"Yes," Kirlin says. "Why should _you_ get the child?" 

"If you want her so badly, you ought to make a better offer," Gellert says. 

"I refuse," Morrigan says, turning to storm out in a huff. 

"So, um," I say, looking to Kirlin. "You _can_ perform this ritual, can't you?" 

"I did memorize the entire book," Gellert says. "I can tell her everything she needs to know." 

Kirlin gives a nod. "Don't worry about her. You are _mine_." She grins at me. 

Tom looks away. "Yes, I think that statement is accurate." 

I stand up. "Is Duncan still in Highever? We need to make preparations for gathering allies." 

Tom nods. "I believe he went to speak with Teyrn Cousland." 

"Let's go meet the teyrn, then," Gellert says, going to follow me. 

"Weren't you going to explain this ritual to Kirlin?" I ask. 

"We're not going to be fighting the archdemon _tomorrow_ ," Gellert says. 

"I do, however, wish to speak with Kirlin about a few things," Tom says. "We will join you later." 

I nod to him, and head out of the tent and into Highever Castle. In the main hall, Duncan is speaking with two older men, and a young blonde woman. 

"Ah, these are more Grey Wardens, I take it?" asks one of the men. 

"Sure, let's go with that," Gellert says. 

"Allow me to introduce Lexen and Gellert," Duncan says, gesturing toward us. "Brother Wardens, these are Teyrn Bryce Cousland, his daughter Melissa, and Arl Rendon Howe." 

"A pleasure, I'm certain," Arl Howe says in a tone that implies that it's anything but. 

"More Grey Wardens?" Melissa says. "How many of you are there?" 

"Not nearly enough, I'm afraid," Duncan says. 

"And I'm afraid that I can't let you recruit my daughter," Bryce says with a grin. "You've got a big responsibility ahead of you, Melissa, my dear. We're riding to war, and while we're gone, you'll be in charge here." 

"Of course, Father," Melissa says. "Highever will be in good hands, I promise you." 

"That's my dutiful daughter," Bryce says. "Now, would you run along and find your brother? We must make plans before we leave." Melissa turns and leaves. 

"It's a pity that my men have been delayed on the road," Howe says. "But they will catch up to you in due time." 

Gellert quietly puts up a privacy spell and murmurs aside to me, "Andraste's flaming ass, this Howe guy totally sounds like Tim Curry!" 

"Should I know who that is?" I wonder. "This is another Muggle reference, isn't it." 

"Never mind that," Gellert says. "Just, I wouldn't trust him if I were you. I'll give you good odds that he's a bad guy." 

"I don't bet," I say. 

"Is there something that the two of you would like to share with the rest of us?" Arl Howe says, narrowing his eyes at us. 

Gellert waves away the privacy spell and says, "Many apologies, Your Amazingness, ser. I've just been totally dying to meet you, you see. I've always been a huge fan of yours, you know. Is there any chance that this humble Grey Warden who is totally not an apostate could get an autograph?" 

Duncan sighs and puts his face in his hand. 

"An... autograph?" Howe repeats. 

"You know," Gellert says. "Your signature." 

"Why do you want my signature?" 

"For posterity!" Gellert says. "Nobody's ever going to believe that I actually met -- nay, that I actually even spoke with! -- the great Rendon Howe otherwise!" 

"Ah," Howe says. "Well, I suppose there's no harm in it. Very well." 

Gellert hands him a piece of parchment and a quill, and Howe signs a name with a flourish. "Could you do me a huge favor, too? Could you also write 'Tim Curry' beneath it?" 

"Tim... Curry?" Howe says, looking at him oddly. 

Gellert helpfully spells it out for him. By this point, I'm looking at him oddly as well, and thinking that Morrigan was quite accurate in her assessment that he's very obviously insane. 

Howe shrugs and writes that name as well. "There you go." He hands the parchment back to him. 

"Many thanks, Your Awesomeness," Gellert says. He puts the parchment into his bag, and then casually points at me and stuns me with a red flash, then revives me a moment later. 

"Hey!" I say, standing up again. 

"I will cherish this forever!" Gellert says, practically skipping out of the room. 

"What in the Void was that all about?" Howe wonders. 

"I have _no_ idea," I say. 

"Ah, you must excuse Gellert," Duncan says, staring off at where Gellert went. "We have some... eccentric personalities in our group." 

"So I see," Howe says. 


	40. Tim Curry

When I return to the tent, Kirlin is alone. Gellert hasn't returned, and Tom is nowhere in sight. 

"Where's Tom and Gellert?" I ask. 

"Gellert went back to Redcliffe, and Tom went back to Kirkwall," Kirlin replies. 

"What was it that Tom wanted to talk to you about, anyway?" I wonder. 

Kirlin sighs. "He wanted to tell me to enjoy it while I could, because he had already won. That one day I would seek out my heart's desire, and then you would be his again. What was that supposed to mean, anyway?" 

I rub my head. "What the fuck? Why is he suddenly so hostile? He was in love with you once!" 

"What did he mean by my heart's desire, anyway?" Kirlin asks. 

"We... discovered that the bonds immediately snapped if a person's greatest regret was eased, their greatest wish was fulfilled," I say. 

"And what was mine?" Kirlin says. "Dare I ask?" 

"Do you really want to know?" 

"I do," Kirlin says. 

"Very well," I say. "We went back in time to 1933, and used Shaper genetic modifications to allow your brother Marius to use magic." 

Kirlin blinks for a moment, and says, "Oh." She pauses, and looks away. "I... after hearing about it, especially Rispy mentioning that they'd managed to modify a _dwarf_ to be able to use magic, I'll admit that I thought about it." 

"If you do," I say, "I will not seek you out a third time. I _will not_ lose you again. I could not bear to watch you die the _first_ time." 

"I'm sorry," Kirlin says quietly. 

"I'm not saying don't do it," I say. "That's entirely your own choice. Just..." I shake my head. "I'm not going to stick around and watch you grow old and die." 

"I understand," Kirlin whispers. 

"You were happy," I say softly, my eyes stinging. "You were so happy. You had everything you could ever have possibly desired. And yet... I could not keep you. My own selfish wish to hold you for eternity... but eternity was not your heart's desire." 

Kirlin comes over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. "Lexen, stop it." 

"Sorry," I mutter. "What I don't understand is why Tom demanded that I come and get you again if he was going to act like this." 

Kirlin shakes her head. "He treats it like some sort of contest. Maybe he thinks he will 'win' if you realize that he's the only one you can ever really rely upon." 

"How did it ever come to this?" I wonder. 

Kirlin is quiet for a few moments, and then says, "I wonder what Urthemiel's greatest regret is." 

"Or Iyaza's," I add. 

"If the simplest way to break the bond is to fulfill that... your magic is very strange, Lexen," Kirlin says. 

"It seems to have a solitary purpose," I say. 

"And yet Tom seems to act like allowing it to fulfill its purpose is a bad thing, and does whatever he can to subvert it," Kirlin says. 

"Let's... let's go out and walk for a bit," I say. "I think I need some air." 

"If you need some air, then let's go and fly for a bit," Kirlin says with a faint smile. 

"Sounds good to me," I say. 

We head out of the tent and shift into bird form, and fly out over the city of Highever. I don't know why it is that I hate flying on brooms so much, but love flying with my own wings. Perhaps it's because when I'm flying by my own power, I feel like I'm the one in control. 

It's a lovely evening, with a cool breeze blowing in off the Waking Sea bringing a salty tang to the air. A faint hint of smoke rises up from the general vicinity of the castle, and a flickering of orange light is visible from the windows. 

Alarmed, I swoop in to investigate, and Kirlin follows after me. We come in through a window to look around. The halls are filled with screams of panic and the clashing of steel. But who is fighting who? There's no darkspawn nearby at the moment. 

A closer look reveals that men with Howe's crest are fighting against the Cousland soldiers. So was Gellert right, then? Howe's a bad guy after all? I don't know what other conclusion to come to. 

I shift into human form as I see Melissa Cousland and an older woman with a sword coming down the corridor. "What's going on here?" 

"Howe's men are attacking the castle," Melissa says. "That traitorous bastard! He killed my brother's wife and son!" 

"Poor Oren..." the old woman says. "My dear little grandson deserved better than this." She must be Melissa's mother. 

"We'll stop him," I say. 

At the thought of this backstabbing scum killing a child, and defenseless people who had believed him an ally, I let bloodlust fill me and guide my actions. Lightning strikes down every man wearing Howe's colors that crosses my sight. I'm dimly aware of Kirlin casting Flame-Freezing Charms as we go. 

Melissa leads us toward a secret passage leading out of the castle, where we come upon Bryce Cousland, badly wounded and quickly bleeding to death. Kirlin rushes over to him, hands glowing blue as she starts pouring healing magic into him. 

"It's too late for me," Bryce says. "Escape. Save yourselves." 

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but please shut up and drink this," I say, putting a healing potion to his lips. 

"Good, we found him fast enough," Kirlin says. "He's lost a lot of blood, but he'll live, most likely." She drinks down a lyrium potion, and I do likewise. 

Duncan shows up, and before he can even say anything, I toss him my bag of holding. "It's on you, now," I say. "We're going back to stop Howe." 

Kirlin hands her own bag to Melissa. "May the Maker watch over you." 

We head back out into the kitchen, away and out of sight of them. "Ready, my dear?" 

"Let's do it," Kirlin says. 

I call upon my Time Magic and age myself down and out of existence. 

* * *

I wake on the floor of the main hall of Highever Castle. Duncan, Bryce, Gellert, and that murderous bastard Howe are standing over me looking surprised. 

"Excuse us for a moment," I say to the others, grabbing Gellert's arm and pulling him away, then putting up a privacy spell. 

"What happened?" Gellert asks. 

"I'm afraid Tim Curry must die," I say. "However, you can feel gratified in being spot on about him." I smirk. 

"What, praytell, is this all about?" Howe wonders, and I cancel the spell and turn back toward him. 

Before I can say anything, however, Gellert smoothly pulls out his wand, points it at Howe, and says, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " Green light flashes, and Rendon Howe falls to the ground, dead, a stunned and slightly confused look frozen on his face. 

"Gellert..." I say. "I'll give you fifty points for effectivity--" Gellert beams broadly. "--and minus a million points for subtlety." 

"What in Andraste's name is going on here?" Bryce demands. 

"We were just leaving," I say. I pull out my bag of holding and toss it to Duncan, and say, "Howe was evil, by the way. Maker watch over you." I grin crookedly, wave, and age myself out of this life. 

* * *

I wake on the floor of the great hall of Highever Castle again. I get up quickly and say, "I apologize on behalf of my brother Warden. He's a little eccentric." 

"So I see," Howe says. "No matter. It is good to know that I am appreciated." 

Gellert and I head out of the room, and once we're out of sight, I pull him aside into a small storage room and put up some privacy spells. 

"So you want me to kill him _subtly_ ," Gellert says. "Why didn't you say so?" 

"You didn't really give me a chance to," I say with a smirk. "Anyway. Just kill him like you did Uldred." 

"What, stage a horribly embarrassing accident that simultaneously discredits him and eliminates him?" Gellert says. "As well as making all of his former allies disavow any previous assocation with him?" 

"I don't know if I even want to ask how you managed that," I say. "Anyway, whatever you do, he needs to be dead by tonight. He's going to attack the castle around midnight." 

"Probably want to make sure that none of his men take the initiative to do it anyway, too," Gellert says. "If the rest of you can make sure his men don't cause any trouble, however, I'll handle Tim Curry." 

I nod. "Will do." 

We part ways, and I return to the tent. Tom and Kirlin are inside, and there's an awkward silence in the room that's almost palpable. I clear my throat politely, and look from one of them to the other. 

"Tom," I say. "We have a situation to resolve here. And then after that, we need to talk." 

"Fine," Tom says. "Kirlin has explained the situation." 

"Gellert's taking care of Howe," I say. "We need to make sure his men don't do anything." 

"How about I go and handle this and let you two talk?" Kirlin says. 

"Are you certain you are up to the task?" Tom asks. 

Kirlin snorts softly. "They're just a bunch of Muggles." She takes the map and heads off with a wave. 

Once she is gone, Tom turns back to me and says, "So." 

"So," I reply. "Is there a problem, Tom?" 

"No," Tom says. 

"Tom, we lived with her for almost a hundred years," I say. "Why now? You told me to go and get her yourself!" 

"Do I need to explain this to you?" Tom says. 

"Obviously you do," I say, slumping down in a chair. 

"You could not let her go," Tom says quietly. "I was there, and yet you could not stop thinking about her." 

"I hardly even mentioned her!" I snap. "And even you can't use Legilimency on me to get into my mind without me noticing what you were doing." 

"Don't evade the issue," Tom says. "The guardian--" 

"Don't pass off your own insecurities onto me," I say. "I have enough of my own without yours as well." 

Tom grabs me and pins me against the floor by my shoulders. "Don't argue with me. You are _mine_." 

"I belong to no one," I hiss. 

"Not even Cassie?" Tom whispers. 

"Not even her," I say. 

Tom shakes his head and releases me, now casually straddling my waist. "There's more to it than that, though. Lately, you've all been about... saving people. Making the multiverse a better place. What happened to the bloodthirsty dark wizard I fell in love with?" 

"I've always been like this," I say. "You dismissed it as a quirk. A 'saving people thing'. But that's who I _am_." 

"Bullshit," Tom says. "No one who is inherently 'good' or 'light' enjoys killing and destroying quite so much as I have seen you do. Nor would they allow the world to burn to save themselves." 

"Damn it, Tom," I murmur, grabbing onto him and rolling onto our sides. 

"Life would be so much more pleasant if we weren't constantly trying to save those who cannot save themselves," Tom says. "Traveling from world to world, gaining power and knowledge as we wished..." 

"And we're doing that," I say. 

"We do that for years, and then suddenly something happens in the world and you're no longer content with that any longer," Tom says, clenching my arms in a vice-like grip. "It was different in Terrestia. That wasn't a case of salvation. That was war and pure destruction. That was beautiful." 

"Tom..." I murmur. 

"Perhaps I have forgotten," Tom says. "We've spent almost a quarter of a century apart now, but for a few weeks traveling together in between. Time is nothing against eternity, and it has been a strange thing on my end as well. It has been strange getting used to the idea of having a family..." 

"Tom, you saved your father," I remind him. "You kept your sister safe." 

"So I did," Tom says. "But I know them. They're family, even if only in this life. You seek to save strangers from themselves. And in this, you seem to get along much better with her than I." 

"And it doesn't help when you just quietly follow along after me and go along with everything I say. Humoring me? Indulging me? I was positively shocked when you actually spoke up earlier, and quite vehemently so. But it was never _quiet_ that I fell in love with. It was-- it was being forceful, in knowing what one wants and getting it no matter what, stopping at nothing to achieve one's desires." 

"Is that really what you want?" Tom says softly, his lips an inch from my ear. 

"Never leave me, Tom," I whisper. "And I will never leave you." 

"I _will_ hold you to that," Tom says. 

I grin. "I'm counting on it." 

"Then let us wreck a magnificent swath of destruction upon the darkspawn, and bring forth a conquering army the likes of which this world has never seen. And when we are done, let none doubt who bought their undeserved salvation, and weep a rain of fire and blood." 

Now I remember why I find Tom so incredibly hot. Why did I ever content myself with living without him for so many years? There's nothing I want more at the moment than to pin him to the floor and strip him naked with my bare teeth, and have my way with him. 

When Kirlin pokes her head back into the tent some while later, the two of us are in a very compromising position. Kirlin just smirks and says, "I take it your, ahem, talk went well? I'll leave you to that, then." She leaves again quickly. 

Some while later, we're laying on the floor, naked and exhausted. It's a little uncomfortable, and I almost wish that we'd bothered to make our way to a bed first. All in all, however, I feel better than I have in quite some time. 

"So," Tom says after several long minutes. 

"So," I reply. "Now what?" 

Tom smirks. "There's not much resolution to a discussion if the discussion itself makes you horny." 

"It wasn't the _discussion_ , exactly," I say, chuckling. "But seriously. We can't keep going on like this. Not when our motivations are at right angles to one another. There has to be some compromise." 

"And which of us will bend first to the other's desires?" Tom says with a crooked grin. "I know that there is darkness in you." 

"And I know that there is light in you," I reply. 

"I'm not going to put up with listening to you angst incessantly, either," Tom says. "You have a bad tendency toward that at times. You might just wind up tempting me into making you forget what you were angsting about." 

"You wouldn't," I say. "Would you seriously Obliviate me? I _hate_ that spell." 

"Consider it motivation," Tom says with a smirk. "You resolve your own problems... or I will. If you cannot let go of someone or something... then I will help you to do so." 

"That's terrible, Tom," I murmur, although without any rancor. 

"You may say that it's terrible, but don't tell me that you've never, even for a moment, considered how wonderful it might be to be able to start over, and be rid of all the things that hold you back and bring you down." 

"I'm looking to gain knowledge, though, not lose it," I say, laying my head on his chest. 

Tom lightly strokes my black hair. "Then you need to learn to deal with it. But memories and skills are different things. You will never forget a skill, even if you do not remember that you know how to do something." 

"There's more to knowledge than just skills," I say. "All I've learned about this world. About its people, its culture, and history. About every world we've visited. All these strange and wonderful places." 

"And how strange and wonderful would they be to discover anew?" Tom says. 

"Tom..." I murmur. 

"I think you have a long way to go before you will be able to handle eternity," Tom says. "But just think about it, alright? Know that the option is there, if ever the memories become too much for you to take." 

I give a slight nod. "Alright. I... Thank you, Tom." 

"Why don't we see how Gellert and Kirlin have handled their tasks?" Tom says, slowly disentangling himself from me and getting up to put on his clothing again. 

"Good idea," I say, and go to get dressed myself. 

Back at Highever Castle, we come upon Howe tied up securely and flanked by a pair of guards, with Bryce Cousland glaring at him intently. Duncan is nearby, alternating between staring in horror and putting his face in his hand. Gellert is also watching, although where he found popcorn, I won't venture to guess. 

I also won't wonder why Howe is wearing a lady's dress. I have to do a double take to make sure I'm really seeing that. 

"And I have heard enough inane, nonsensical lines out of you, Rendon," Bryce says. "As if you stealing my wife's dress and molesting my grandson weren't bad enough, your own men have informed me of your nefarious plans. I find it hard to believe that, after so many years of friendship, you would turn on me like this, but the evidence is damning." 

Tom and I go over to Gellert and put up a privacy spell. "What in the Void did you _do_ to him?" I wonder. 

"I Imperioed him and made him do incriminating things," Gellert says. "And also to spout off Tim Curry quotes." 

"Ah, the Imperius Curse," Tom says. "Got to love it." 

Kirlin shows up and says, "Oh, are the two of you done now?" 

I expand the spell to include her. "I don't think we actually really resolved anything, but never mind that." 

"I think I wound up doing more useful work than Gellert did here," Kirlin says. "He just wanted to hear Howe talk like Tim Curry, I think." 

"I regret nothing," Gellert says. 

Howe gets taken away in chains, although not before the dress gets removed from him first. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind, but I suppose it was probably more effective than simply murdering him. As much as I would dearly love to murder him about now. 

"Is that murder I see in your eyes?" Tom says, his lips quirking. 

"Yes," I reply. 

"You wanted to kill him, but you left the task to Gellert?" Tom says. "Why?" 

"I figured he would get the job done more effectively," I say. 

"And I did," Gellert says. 

"Well, they've taken him away now," Tom says. "Why don't we go and murder him now?" 

"I think that might undermine what we were attempting to do with discrediting him," I say. 

"Fine, then how about torturing him instead?" Tom suggests. "The Cruciatus Curse doesn't leave any visible markings, after all, and we can put up a Silencing Charm around the room so that nobody can hear the screams but us." 

"Tempting..." I say. 

"It's such a drag having to worry about the opinions and reactions of others, isn't it?" Gellert says, almost mockingly. "You can't just openly do whatever you want without consequence." 

Kirlin sighs, and says, "I think I'd best go and make sure that Teyrn Cousland doesn't think that we might possibly have had any involvement in this matter whatsoever." She heads off. 

"And I think I'll go make sure that Duncan doesn't kick me out of the Grey Wardens despite me never having actually joined," Gellert says. 

Tom chuckles a little as we're left alone again for the moment. "So, shall we?" 

"Let's," I say with a wicked grin. "And tell you what. We can conquer the next universe if you want." 

"So, are you deciding to be the one to bend, now?" Tom says as we stroll casually into the corridor. 

"I'll bend over for you anytime," I reply. "So long as you do the same for me." I grin broadly at him. 

"I think the teyrn might need to be Obliviated himself if he were to walk in on us naked after torturing and or murdering people," Tom says lightly. 

"Let's do try to make sure that doesn't happen." 

"Not blustering about goodness and light anymore?" Tom says. 

"It occurs to me that saving the world often means destroying something," I say. "And that people will praise you for slaughtering the things enough people agree are bad." 

Tom throws back his head and laughs. "Once we stop this Blight, why don't you come back with me to Kirkwall for a while? We can live it up and do whatever we want, without the templars or anyone else being the wiser." 

"Sounds good to me," I say. 

"I like Kirkwall," Tom says. "Magic is strong there. I don't know what happened in the city's past, but it seems like the entire city is built on top of a node." 

"I would very much enjoy learning everything about it, with you," I say, grinning at him. 


	41. Strength and Wisdom

"The lot of you certainly have a tendency to complicate things, don't you," Duncan comments, coming into the tent at breakfast the next morning. 

"Would you have preferred everyone in the castle to have been slaughtered?" I reply. 

"I understand the situation," Duncan says. "But was that really the best way to go about it?" 

I snort softly. "The first time I told him that Howe needed to die, Gellert hit him with a Killing Curse right in the middle of the great hall, in front of you and Bryce and everyone." 

Gellert does his best to fail at looking utterly innocent. "Well, it did get the job done." 

Duncan sighs and puts his face in his palm. "And putting Howe in a frilly dress was somehow an improvement upon this plan? No, no, don't answer that," Duncan says, shaking his head. "Just get ready to leave. We'll be setting out for Orzammar today." 

"I'd best be getting back to Redcliffe," Gellert says. "Before the arlessa sends a search party. Or worse, templars." 

"I really doubt that the arlessa is going to send templars after you," I say with a smirk. 

"You never know," Gellert says. "Templars are sneaky like that." 

"They totally aren't," I say as Gellert heads out. 

"And I have a few things I need to take care of yet in Kirkwall," Tom says. "I'll meet up with you at Orzammar." He leans over and gives me a kiss, then leaves himself. 

"It must be very convenient to be able to appear anyplace you wish," Duncan says. "And to think that mages long thought this was impossible." 

"Don't ask how we figured it out," I say. 

"I was assuming that it was some sort of ability you learned in another world," Duncan says. 

"Yeah," I say. "It just took a bit of work to make it function properly here without killing us. The Fade is a much less friendly place than the equivalents in the other worlds we've been to." 

"You travel directly through the Fade?" Duncan says, raising an eyebrow. 

Kirlin gives a nod. "It isn't very pleasant. While there are demons in other worlds we've visited, they were never quite so... aggressive as the ones here." 

"What happened with Howe, by the way?" I ask. 

"He was hanged at dawn for treason," Duncan says. "He couldn't even manage a word in his defense." 

I think I enjoyed last night entirely too much, and I can't even bring myself to feel guilty about it. Maybe Tom was right after all, much as I might try to deny it. Why do I enjoy destroying lives at least as much as I do saving them? I do not understand. 

We pack up and leave Highever finally, and head out on the road to the west toward Orzammar. As we travel, I spot a dot appear on my map, and grin a bit. Sten has finally arrived in Ferelden. Well, I say 'finally', but I suppose word of the Blight had to spread to Par Vollen. Although considering what I said when I left, one might assume that the Ariqun would have told the Arishok about it already. 

I have no idea when Sten actually arrived in Ferelden in the previous timeline, and any number of factors may have shifted the dates to be either earlier or later for a number of events. Everything always happens the same way unless I change something, but even minor things that I change could have wide reaching consequences that I cannot predict at times. 

Thankfully, it looks like they're heading along the road in the opposite direction of us, so we'll be intercepting them along the way. 

"We'll be meeting up with a group of Qunari in a few days," I say. 

"Friends of yours?" Duncan says. 

"A friend who has no idea who I am," I say. 

"Ah," Duncan says. "That sort of friend." 

I would imagine that if the Qunari knew half of the things that go on in my head, they might declare me to be Tal-Vashoth, one who has turned away from the Qun. But I was never really fully taken in by the Qun to begin with, and I am perfectly capable of paying sufficient lip service to it that it's unlikely anyone would see past my mask unless I chose to go against them openly. 

When we draw close and catch sight of the band of Qunari on the road, I wave to them. They looked as though they were liable to just keep walking otherwise. After spending so many years in Par Vollen, seeing hornless kossith feels a bit unusual, when that seemed perfectly normal when Sten was the only kossith I had previously met. 

"Do you require something, human, or is this merely a polite gesture in this land?" Sten asks. 

"Peace, Sten," I greet him in Qunlat. "There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun." 

"The Qun, from a human, here?" Sten says in English, raising an eyebrow at me. 

"I am Ashkaari," I say, inclining my head toward him politely. 

"I see," Sten says. "Why are you here, so far from Par Vollen?" 

"I was a Grey Warden before I was a Qunari," I reply. "And with the Blight, that is a duty that cannot be forsworn." 

"You are not a warrior," Sten says. "How are you expected to fight the darkspawn?" 

"Correct, I am not," I say. "But fight I must, nonetheless. Right now, I and my companions are gathering an army to send against the horde." 

"I am Duncan, Warden-Commander of Ferelden," says Duncan, nodding to Sten. "Have you come to assist us against the Blight?" 

"We came to answer a question," Sten replies. "The Arishok asked, 'What is the Blight?' And so we came." 

"I can tell you what the Blight is," I say. "The Blight is death. The Blight is corruption, destruction, the end of civilization, the end of life. The darkspawn taint everything they touch. They drag women underground and rape them, mutate them, twist them into bloated, monstrous forms to force them to birth more darkspawn. The Blight is a black cloud that sweeps across the land and blocks out the sun, and a disease that causes plants to wither in its wake. If it is allowed to spread unchecked, it will leave behind nothing but a barren wasteland roamed by monsters that attack anyone on sight who is still alive. The Blight _must_ be fought. It is a duty that cannot be forsworn." 

Sten stares at me for a long moment, and then says, "The Beresaad will fight the Blight. Where must we go?" 

"The darkspawn are gathering in the Korcari Wilds, to the south," Duncan says. "We are mustering an army at an ancient stronghold called Ostagar." 

"We shall go to Ostagar," Sten says. 

"Be on alert, always," I say. "You are great warriors, I am certain, but the darkspawn are like no foe you have previously encountered. They will come at you out of nowhere, without warning, and your own shadows will harbor your enemies." 

"Then what wisdom is there in the three of you traveling by yourselves, and one of you a woman, even?" Sten asks. "I have seen some strange things since I left home, but do you claim she is a Grey Warden and a warrior also?" 

"I am a healer," Kirlin says. "Not a warrior. I'll fight as I must, but mostly I just try to keep everyone alive." 

"I see," Sten says, nodding. 

"And Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn," I say. "We can tell if the darkspawn are coming, and so they will not be able to ambush us." 

"We will accompany you, Ashkaari," Sten says. "We can protect you, and you can alert us to any nearby darkspawn." 

I nod. "Very well. We are heading to Orzammar at the moment in order to enlist the aid of the dwarves." 

We turn and continue on the road to the west. I have to admit that I feel a little better with more warriors around me. Not that Kirlin and I can't handle whatever we're likely to run across, barring encountering the full brunt of the horde randomly. It also feels strangely comforting to have kossith around again, although it puts me on my guard when I'm outside my tent. They must not see my mask slip, especially not to find out that I'm a mage unless it is absolutely necessary. 

I keep watch with Sten one evening, absently poking at the fire that the Beresaad had used to cook their dinner. There haven't been any darkspawn nearby since we left Highever. I would imagine that most of them have moved south by now. 

"Ashkaari," Sten says in Qunlat, nodding to me. "These bas call you Lexen. Where are you from originally?" 

"Ferelden," I reply. "I traveled north and sought out the Qunari twelve years ago." 

"You sought them out?" Sten asks. 

"I had heard of the Qun even in Ferelden, and I was curious," I say. "I wished to learn, and so I went north." 

"You traveled a long way for the sake of finding enlightenment," Sten says. "It is not a wonder that they made you Ashkaari." 

"The quest for wisdom and knowledge is a never-ending one," I comment. 

"Did the answers that the Chantry gave about their Maker not satisfy you?" Sten asks. 

I snort softly. "The Chantry doesn't know half as much as it thinks it does, and I was never fooled into thinking otherwise. And for all their prayer, this Maker has never seemed to do anything. One would think that some demon or another would have attempted to pretend to be their Maker by this point." 

"This elf woman," Sten says. "The one who called herself a healer. Is she a mage?" That's not precisely what he says. We're speaking Qunlat, and the Qunlat word for 'mage' is _saarebas_ , literally 'dangerous thing'. 

"She uses magic," I reply flatly. 

Sten nods tersely. "These lands do not have proper, civilized views toward magic." 

"The Qunari say that it is impossible for a mage to be able to control himself," I say. 

"Has your time in this land made you begin to question the wisdom of the Qun?" 

"There can be no gain in knowledge without asking questions," I say. "I always question everything. I never stopped. But that is not the same thing as doubt. I cannot simply know. I must understand." 

"Have you come to an understanding, then?" Sten says. "What answers have your questions reached?" 

"That all it takes is one mage gone out of control to wreck untold amounts of havoc and destruction," I reply. "That mage might have sinister intent and be able to keep their plans quiet for years as they plot about it. Or they might be completely innocent and something slips by accident. But either way, the result is disaster." 

Sten nods. "That is indeed wise." 

I would be a fool if I were not to acknowledge the sheer destructive power that mages have, although it can readily be turned to good purposes as well, to help rather than harm. And I would not consider myself to be an exception to that, either. The number of times I have been tricked by demons, despite the fact that I should know better... Pride has ever been my downfall. Likewise, I know perfectly well that if I were in serious danger of being made Tranquil, I would be cutting myself and summoning demons left and right. 

"And yet you still travel with a mage," Sten says. 

"So I do," I say. 

"This is a very strange country," Sten says. 

"Everyplace is strange by the perspective of those outside of it," I say. "Tell me, Sten. Would mages be so dangerous to themselves and others if not for the constant threat of demons?" 

"Demons are always a threat," Sten says. 

"Hypothetical question," I say. 

"If demons were not a problem, then they would not be inherently incapable of mastering themselves," Sten says. "It is the demons that are the problem. Why are you asking me this? You should know this yourself." 

"I do," I say. 

"And it is irrelevent regardless, since demons will always be a problem." 

"I have found that the world rarely works in terms of 'always' and 'never'," I say. "And that what is thought to be 'impossible' may not necessarily be so." 

"I shall leave the questioning what may be possible to you, then," Sten says. "That is your role. I am a warrior, however." 

Along the way to Orzammar, we are attacked only once by a small band of darkspawn. Not wanting to give away my status as a mage to the Qunari just yet, I stay back and use only spells that have no visible effect, such as one to protect the warriors from harm. 

"So these are the darkspawn," Sten says, standing over the body of a genlock. 

"Don't touch the bodies," I warn. "We should burn them." 

Duncan and I take up the task of piling up the corpses of the darkspawn and burning them. I don't even know if I'm actually still immune to the taint as it is, and I'm not sure that I really care. It's not like I don't still have the damned nightmares. 

"Foul creatures," Sten says. 

"This is what we face," Duncan says. "This was but a small scouting party, mostly genlocks. There were no emissaries, or shrieks, or ogres." 

"We should be briefed on the sorts of creatures we will be expected to face, then," Sten says. 

Once the task of burning the corpses is taken care of, we continue on toward Orzammar. Along the way, Duncan explains the various types of darkspawn, and their characteristics. I already know all I'd like to know about them, but Kirlin listens intently. 

As we approach the gates of the dwarven city, I say, "We'll be meeting with a dwarf called Rispy here. He's one of the greatest warriors I've ever known." 

"We will also be stopping in at the royal palace to speak with the king," Duncan adds. 

"You can stay outside when we go in if you like," I say. "Orzammar can be uncomfortable for outsiders." 

"The ceilings are too low?" Sten asks. 

"Well, no, that's not it," I say. "Actually, the dwarves like to build everything ridiculously big and tall. It's kind of weird. No, the thing is that they built the city on top of a volcano, it seems like. Molten lava everywhere. I guess they've never had a problem with it erupting, though." 

After a brief discussion with the other members of the Beresaad, Sten says, "The others will remain outside. I will accompany you." 

The Qunari start to set up camp, and the four of us head toward the massive gates leading down into the city of Orzammar. Duncan introduces us to the guard at the gates as Grey Wardens recruiting for the war effort, and we're let inside. 

Sten looks up as we walk along, examining the statues of the Paragons thoughtfully. "For such a diminutive people, the dwarves seem to like to build everything big." 

"Rispy's place is over this way," I say, leading them off through the commons. 

When we arrive there, however, Rica answers the door and says, "Oh, it's you again. Rispy's not here at the moment. He's down at the Proving Grounds at the moment." 

"And you're not there to cheer him on?" I say with a grin. 

"He's already won two Provings this month," Rica says, chuckling. "I think he's itching to get out and fight darkspawn, and not these traditional dwarven pissing contests." 

"He will certainly get the opportunity," Duncan says. 

We leave Rispy's house and head over to the Proving Grounds. The fights are already going on, and the Proving Master looks over to us and says, "Grey Wardens, is it? You've missed the start of this Proving, but there are plenty more matches left to watch, if you want to take a seat." 

"Who's up?" I ask, leaning over the railing. "Is that Rispy down there?" 

"Yes, that's Rispy Brosca, the rising star of the Warrior Caste," the Proving Master says. "He's fighting... oh, that had to hurt." He speaks up and announces, "And the winner is Rispy! Will Orzammar's champion win yet another Proving?" 

"He is a skilled warrior," Sten says. 

"Next up, Rispy will face Scregor Aeducan himself!" the Proving Master announces. "Can Orzammar's prince bring down this upstart fighter?" 

"My money's on Rispy," Kirlin says quietly. 

"I don't bet," I say, and then smirk. "Although I do think Rispy's going to win." 

Rispy faces off against Scregor with dual daggers. Scregor hefts a massive axe large enough that I have to wonder how he even lifts the thing. Rispy is lightly armored in leather, and darts in with rapid reflexes, but Scregor is a juggernaut of massive armor. Still, it's quite clear that Rispy knows how to fight armored opponents, and he takes every advantage he can to turn it against Scregor. It's like watching a monkey utterly destroy an elephant. 

"And the winner is Rispy!" the Proving Master shouts. "Not even Orzammar's prince is a match for the Warrior Caste's shining star!" 

Rispy throws back his head and laughs, and then helps Scregor to his feet, and the two of them leave the arena together. They come back out to where we are, and Kirlin goes over to make sure Scregor is alright. 

"I'm fine, lass," Scregor says. "Nothing's hurt but my dignity." He chuckles. 

"Ah, there you are," Tom says, coming up out of the stands. "That was quite the match, wasn't it?" 

"I'm glad to see you back here, my friends," Rispy says. "I've got so much to tell you. And then afterward, I believe we have a Blight to go and fight, yes?" 

"Indeed," I say with a grin. "Let's head over to your place and you can tell us all about it, then." 


	42. A Duster's Victory

So, Sten's here for storytime too this time? Alright, then. My name is Rispy Brosca, and I'm happy to say that I'm Warrior Caste. I'm glad for it because it's unusual for someone born casteless like me to ever manage to acquire a caste. 

You Qunari are far saner than the dwarves of Orzammar in that regard. You don't consider a large percentage of your population to be useless dust just because of who their parents were. But the story of how I got my caste is one I'll tell you another time, if you want to hear it. Right now, I must fill in my friends on what has transpired since I last saw them. 

Here's that invisibility cloak you lent to me back, by the way. I got some good use out of it. First off, I used it to sneak into the royal palace. Namely, back into Bhelen's bedroom to see exactly what he might be scheming about. 

First there was Trian. "I have some bad news for you, brother," Bhelen said, lowering his voice furtively. "I think Scregor is going to try to kill you." 

"What?" Trian roared. "How dare he! He wants to cement his place on the throne, does he?" 

Bhelen nodded with feigned concern. "I fear that's what he's trying for. He's already favored, but there's still a good chance that you'll be chosen as king, since you're the oldest. If he managed to get you out of the way, however..." 

"He will not get the chance," Trian said. "I'll get the drop on him first." 

"Good, good," Bhelen said. "I would hate to see anything happen to you, brother. You will be a fine king someday." 

With them done talking, I snuck out to make a showing down at the Proving. No one would suspect I was up to anything if I didn't miss a Proving. Not that they were likely to suspect anyway, but still. This Proving was being held in the honor of Scregor's first commission. Scregor himself was watching from the stands as I made victory after victory. 

The Warrior Caste, notably, refuses to acknowledge for the most part that I was born in Dust Town. They tend to either pretend that I was always Warrior Caste, or that I was a surfacer who gained honor in the Deep Roads, or some such. It's as though they willfully avoid looking at the brand on my face. I'm a living embarrassment to the caste system. 

I disappeared after the Proving and followed after Scregor, who went along with Gorim back into the royal palace again. There were a lot of people hanging around there that day, and I needed to keep on sharp alert to avoid anyone bumping into me by accident and giving me away. 

Scregor started up a quiet conversation with one man, a Dace I believe, but I wasn't close enough to be able to make out what they're saying. 

King Endrin called up Scregor a little bit later and presented him before the nobles gathered there that day, and asked if anyone had any questions of the new commander. 

Dace stepped up and said, "What is your opinion on the surface dwarves? Do you think they should forfeit their caste?" 

"Forfeit their caste?" Scregor said. "As if they weren't still dwarves! How is going to the surface some terrible, unforgiveable crime? People perform far worse deeds down here every day! Being more welcoming toward surface-living dwarves could relieve a lot of strain on Orzammar, so far as troops, trade, and population." 

The nobles present made politely favorable noises, even though it was clear that some of them didn't agree. I have to wonder if they'd even bother to be polite if he were suggesting giving the same heed to the casteless of Dust Town, even though the surfacers are technically casteless too. 

After the ceremony, Scregor made his way back into the royal bedrooms, and I quietly followed after him. Then, once Bhelen thought he was alone with his middle brother and his second, he promptly started in on the same spiel again. 

"Brother, I think Trian is planning to kill you," Bhelen said. 

"What!?" Scregor exclaimed. 

"He might be the eldest, but I fear that he believes that the Assembly will pass over him in favor of you," Bhelen said. 

"Nug shit," Scregor said. "Trian would never stoop to killing his own kin like that." 

"I would not be so certain of that, brother," Bhelen said. "Or have you not heard the rumors surrounding our own dear father's succession? If our own father would--" 

"You will _not_ speak ill of our father in front of me!" Scregor snapped. 

"Denying the facts won't change them, Scregor," Bhelen said smoothly. "I just don't want to see anything happen to you. If you were killed--" 

"Then I will be dead," Scregor said. "But I would sooner die than raise a hand against my own brother." 

"So be it," Bhelen said. "I hope that I'm just being paranoid. Maybe nothing will come of it after all." 

Scregor snorted. "I'll be going now, brother." 

"Wouldn't want to keep the ladies waiting," Gorim added. 

"I won't need you anymore for the day, Gorim," Scregor said as they head out of the room. "Why don't you go and spend some time with that nice redheaded girl you met?" 

"Rica?" Gorim said, chuckling. "It's strange to think that, under other circumstances, she might have wound up being a noble hunter herself. But now I could actually marry her..." 

"She makes you happy," Scregor said. "I say go for it." 

I'm very glad that Rica has hooked up with Gorim, and hasn't gotten involved with someone like Bhelen. I didn't have much to do with that, really, aside from making sure that she never had to be a noble hunter. Gorim, at least, is a gentleman, and will never make her cry, even through foolish ambitions. 

Gorim and Scregor parted ways, and I made to sneak out of the palace again. As much as I would have liked to head home about then, I had a stop to make in Dust Town first. 

"Leske," I whispered from the shadows once I found who I was looking for. 

"Salroka?" Leske said quietly. "Where are you?" 

"Don't look, but I'm right behind you," I said. "Is everything in order? Bhelen's about to make his move." 

"Dust Town will follow your word, salroka," Leske said. 

"Good," I said. "Be ready." 

Some people in my position might have cut ties with their former lives. They might have been embarrassed to be associated with Dust Town still, or considered it good riddance, or that they deserved to be where they were and away from the scum. I don't know. But I certainly did not. 

You can buy an army of dusters for the price of one trinket found in the Deep Roads, and if you treat them like they're people, with a modicum of respect, they might even be loyal to you to the death. 

Dust Town has hence been my own personal army. I didn't murder Beraht and take over the Carta. I politely bought him out and let him retire on the surface with Jarvia. And by 'politely' I mean that I made him an offer that he couldn't refuse. 

Between the smuggling and Deep Roads scavenging, I've got quite a bit of money flowing through here, and I make damned sure that everyone in Dust Town can eat. However, I've made certain to keep my name away from the entire business. Everyone thinks that Leske is the real Carta boss. They don't know who is really calling the shots. 

I got up early the next morning and made ready to follow the expedition invisibly. Since my house is associated with Caridin, I only wind up going on the occasional mission for him, generally when he wants something from the Deep Roads that got misplaced or left behind in Ortan Thaig or someplace. 

I listened in as the missions were assigned, and Scregor got pointed off to Aeducan Thaig to retrieve an old shield. I, however, was going to stick on Trian like a Permanent Sticking Charm. I have faith in Leske, but just in case something went wrong somewhere, I wanted to be on hand to be able to defend Trian. That was the entire point of this exercise, after all. 

I followed Trian into the Deep Roads as he went off on his own mission, staying closer to his group than I normally would have dared when shadowing someone if it weren't for the invisibility cloak I was wearing. There's only so much that either stealth or invisibility can do by themselves. You really need both for maximum effectiveness, I think. 

Then I spotted Leske and a group of dusters quietly slipping through the tunnels near Trian's squad. I went right up next to Leske and whispered, "I'm here, salroka." 

"Then let's give Bhelen his money's worth, shall we?" Leske said with a broad grin. "Alright, boys. Surround Trian's group, but _do not_ attack no matter what they do. Just look threatening. Got that?" 

Leske's group moved to intercept Trian, and I slipped over to the opposite side so that I looked like I'd been shadowing the prince. 

"Well, well, what have we here?" Leske said, stepping up in front of Trian's team. "A little prince out for a stroll in the Deep Roads?" 

Trian narrowed his eyes at them. "Bandits, is it?" 

I pulled off the invisibility cloak and stuffed it into my bag of holding, and then walked over to stand between Trian and Leske. "You'll stay your hand if you know what's good for you, Leske. This man is under my protection." 

"What are you playing at, you upstart duster?" Leske said. "Last I checked, your so-called _warrior house_ was sworn to Caridin, not to Aeducan." 

"Regardless, I will not allow you to assassinate a prince today," I said firmly. "Stand. Down." 

Leske grumbled, and then gestured to his companions. "Bhelen paid us well to take down his brother, but he didn't pay us to commit suicide." 

" _Bhelen?_ " Trian demanded. "What is going on here?" 

Leske smirked. "Your little brother is plotting against you, don't you know?" 

"A brilliant scheme, Your Highness," I said dryly. "He wanted to pit you and Scregor against one another, get one of you killed and the other executed or exiled for kinslaying. It's fortunate that I caught wind of the coup when I did." 

"Bhelen!?" Trian exclaimed. "He would do such a thing? Bhelen is a quiet and dutiful little brother!" 

"You would never have suspected it of him, would you," I said. "But don't just take my word for it, or the word of this duster here. Scregor himself should be along sooner or later. Ask him and find out for yourself." 

"I will do that," Trian said. "But you will remain here to guard me. If you are wrong about this..." 

"If I am wrong about this, then I will ensure that no one harms you, Your Highness," I said, bowing to him. "And as for you lot," I said, turning to Leske. "Scurry on back to Dust Town." 

"Yeah, yeah, don't hurt us," Leske said. "We're going." 

Leske and his band of dusters slunk away into the shadows, leaving me alone with Trian and his squad. We staked up a position, and after some while, Scregor finally made his way to our location. 

"So, there you are, brother," Trian said. "What do you have to say for yourself?" 

"I don't believe this," Scregor said. "Bhelen told me that you wanted me dead, but I told him he was full of nug shit. Don't tell me that he was right all along?" 

Trian scowled. "Bhelen told _me_ that _you_ wanted me dead." 

"That... fuck, Bhelen has played us both, hasn't he," Scregor said. 

"Bhelen hired the Carta to kill Trian," I explained. "I found out about it and put a stop to it." 

"Good work, Rispy," Scregor said. "Stone damn it... Bhelen... I never would have expected this of him." 

"Nor I," Trian said. "But it seems--" 

"This way, father!" came Bhelen's voice from up the tunnel. "I hope we're not too late!" 

We turned to look as Bhelen came into view, followed by King Endrin, Lord Harrowmont, and several others. 

"My boys," Endrin said, looking over Trian and Scregor in concern. "Tell me that this isn't what it appears to be." 

"What it appears to be?" Scregor said. "We are standing in the Deep Roads, talking, father." 

"But your axe is in hand!" Bhelen said, although I can see the panic in his expression at the fact that his coup has already failed. "I heard you say that you meant to kill Trian!" 

"I am in the Deep Roads, surrounded by darkspawn," Scregor said. "Of course my axe is in my hand." 

"He was threatening Prince Trian, he was," put in one of the men following Scregor. 

"Anyone could have paid this man to say that," Harrowmont said. 

"Yes," Endrin agreed. "Frandlin Ivo, what do you say? What did you see happen here?" 

The man addressed was another member of Scregor's squad, and he stepped forward and said, "When we came here, Trian was waiting for us. Harsh words were exchanged. Weapons were drawn. I feared that a fight was about to break out." 

"I don't believe this," Gorim said. "Don't make this out to sound like anything but what it was. The only thing being discussed was Bhelen's betrayal, and the only harsh words spoken were directed at Bhelen!" 

"Of course Scregor's second would support him no matter what," Bhelen said. 

"If I may?" I put in. "I am an unbiased party in this situation." 

"I wouldn't trust the word of a dirty brand," spat one of the men with Endrin, a deshyr I think he might have been. 

"I am Warrior Caste, Your Lordship," I replied. 

"Once a brand, always a brand." 

"Paragon Caridin disagrees," I said. 

"Rispy's status is not in question here," Endrin said. "What did you see here, then?" 

"Yesterday, I caught wind of a scheme to assassinate Prince Trian," I said. "Bhelen hired a number of mercenaries from Dust Town to do the deed." 

"Slander!" Bhelen cried. "I will not hear such words from this low-born scum!" 

"Quiet, Bhelen," Endrin said. "I will hear him out." 

"Fearful for the prince's life, I shadowed his group as they entered the Deep Roads," I said. "When the thugs came out to attack, I stepped up and told them to stand down, and scared them off." 

A couple members of Trian's team are nodding. "That's right. That's what happened." 

"Why don't you ask the men who were meant to be sacrificial lambs here what happened?" I went on. "Apparently Bhelen didn't pay for lies from the ones who were meant not to survive this day." 

"The thugs said Bhelen had hired them," said another one of Trian's men. 

"Obviously, Trian's men were bought out to speak lies," Bhelen said. "Or the mercenaries themselves were lying about who hired them. Perhaps even Scregor himself hired them, to kill Trian and pin the blame on me!" 

I snorted softly. "Think fast, Bhelen. Your schemes are unraveling before your eyes." 

Endrin sighed and put his face in his hands. "I don't know what the right of things is, but one way or another, my sons are plotting against one another." 

"Your Majesty, if I may make a suggestion, but it would perhaps behoove us to relocate this discussion to Orzammar," I said. "It is not safe here. There are still darkspawn about." 

"The brand's got some sense in him, at least," said the deshyr. 

"Let us reconvene in Orzammar," Endrin said, nodding soberly. 

We headed back to Orzammar. At least, during a Blight, there might still be darkspawn, but not nearly as many, especially not that close to the city. Quite a number of them had likely already been killed by the various teams probing the thaig. 

As for me, I kept a close eye on Bhelen. He had already shown himself to be liable to do underhanded and bloody things, especially if his plans did not go as he had intended them to. I was afraid he might decide to attack someone right then and there. But he went back to Orzammar quietly enough for the moment, carefully masking a sullen expression along the way. He was very good at schooling his face to look neutral. 

Endrin gathered together his three sons, Lord Harrowmont, Gorim and me into a room in the royal palace. "Now, I want to know exactly what is going on here." 

Leske casually stepped out of the shadows and said, "Prince Bhelen. I regret to inform you that I cannot complete your mission. You didn't pay me nearly enough to fight Rispy." 

Bhelen cast him a horrified look that practically screamed 'Not here!', and said aloud, "What are you talking about, brand? And how did you get in here?" 

"What's this, now?" Endrin said. 

"Do go on, Leske," I said. 

Leske gave a shit-eating grin, and said, "I've got thirty dusters who saw Vartag Gavorn strolling through Dust Town yesterday. And it wasn't for the noble hunters, I can assure you." 

"You still took money to kill me!" Trian said. "This brand should be locked up and executed at once!" 

I shook my head. "Leske was acting under my instructions the entire time. They were never actually going to attack you." 

"And I'm afraid there isn't enough lyrium in the Deep Roads to convince me to attack Rispy," Leske said. 

"This slanderous brand should, at the very least, be thrown out of the royal palace!" Bhelen exclaimed. 

"Bhelen, do shut up," Scregor said. "Don't think I have forgotten our conversation last night, in which you were attempting to convince me that Trian was going to try to kill me." 

"Or _our_ conversation yesterday morning, in which you convinced me that Scregor intended to attempt to kill me," Trian added. 

"I am ashamed to say that these two men here have shown more honor and loyalty than my own _brother_ ," Scregor said, gesturing toward me and Leske. 

Bhelen narrowed his eyes, and said, "How unfortunate. It seems like these treacherous brands murdered my own family, leaving me to avenge them..." 

"What are you--" Scregor began. 

Bhelen pulled a dagger out from somewhere and launched himself at Endrin. The two guards who had been standing at attention by the door moved to attack Scregor, Gorim, and Trian, and two more guards from the opposite side of the room came to attack me and Leske. How many people did Bhelen buy out, I wondered? 

I moved quick, barely registering being attacked from all sides. I grabbed Bhelen and pushed him aside, preventing him from stabbing the king. Instead, he stabbed at me hard, and his enchanted dagger managed to pierce my armor. It hardly scratched me, but I could feel the effects of the poison very quickly. 

I knocked the dagger out of Bhelen's hand and sent it skittering across the floor, and reached into my bag to pull out a bezoar. Thank _you_ for the paranoia to always carry a few of those just in case. I popped it into my mouth to cancel out the effects of the poison, and pinned Bhelen to the ground. 

Meanwhile, Leske, Trian, and Scregor had managed to take down the guards Bhelen had sent against them. Very messily, I might add, since Scregor rarely does anything subtly. 

"I can't believe this," Endrin said. 

"Sorry, Your Highness, but your plan B has failed, too," I told Bhelen. "Do you have a plan C?" 

"Eat nug shit, brand," Bhelen spat. 

"I think we can qualify this as 'epic fail'," I said. 

"How many more guards has Bhelen bought out?" Endrin said. "Who can I trust?" 

"Trust the Carta," Leske said with a grin. "We're all working for Rispy." He laughed aloud at that. 

"These are strange times..." Endrin said with a sigh. "Rispy, is this true? Is there truly more loyalty to be found in Dust Town than in the highest guardians of the Warrior Caste?" 

"Your Majesty, if I ever asked it of them, they would all lay down their lives for me without question," I said. 

"Because he's sodding scary is what he is," Leske said. "He could beat the shit out of us all and then stroll home whistling. But he keeps us all fed and clothed and safe, provided we don't cause too much trouble." 

"No wonder there has been so much less crime in Orzammar the last couple years," Gorim said. 

"Gorim," Endrin said. "Take Bhelen to a cell and keep him there. Scregor, Trian, Rispy, you're with me. We're going to make sure that Bhelen has no more supporters in this palace. And Leske... I can't believe I'm saying this, but go bring about two dozen of your most trusted... warriors." 

"At once, Your Majesty," Leske said, bowing awkwardly and grinning. 

We stepped out of the room, and it didn't take more than seeing Bhelen in chains to bring every guard in the area in to attack us. We quickly came to the conclusion that if everyone here wasn't in Bhelen's pocket, they might as well be assumed to be. Every last guard and most of the servants got swiftly removed from the royal palace. I'm sure many of the servants were fine, but under the circumstances... no one could be trusted any longer. 

Outside the palace, when Leske arrived, one of the guards was saying, "Get back to Dust Town, brand. We don't need your kind dirtying up the Diamond Quarter." 

"Let him through," Scregor said. "Orders of my father. Also, you're fired, by the way." 

"What in the names of the Paragons is going on here?" the guard said. 

"Bhelen tried to sieze the throne by murdering his own family," I explained. "He also bought out most if not all of the guards in the palace. I apologize if you are not working for him, but at the moment, it is uncertain which of the guards and servants can be trusted any longer." 

"Things will probably be back to normal soon," Scregor said. "We're going to need to root out as many of Bhelen's co-conspirators as we can find. What a mess..." He sighed. "Until then, take some time off and spend some time with your family." 

"You are trusting these brands over me?" the guard said. "I can't believe this..." 

"Neither can I," Scregor said. "As my father said, these are strange times indeed." 

And so a group of dusters came to guard the royal palace with pride and diligence. Leske brought in some old beggar women to replace the servants who had to be removed as well, ones too old to be noble hunters, but who were perfectly capable of cooking and cleaning. I have never seen anyone so enthusiastic about being allowed to work, and to work in the palace, no less. 

There was, needless to say, quite the uproar throughout Orzammar about what had transpired. First they were offended over brands working in the palace, and then when they found out why, they were offended on behalf of their entire castes that so many of them could be bought so readily. 

To make matters worse, Bhelen had a number of deshyrs under his thumb as well, not all of whom attempted to distance themselves from him the minute his failed coup came to light. Some tried to get him freed from prison, trying to invalidate the damning crimes laid against him. But their attempts fell on deaf ears, and Bhelen was sentenced to exile and death in the Deep Roads. A suitably ironic fate for him. 


	43. Sacred Ground

We head up to the royal palace. If it weren't for Rispy's story, I might have been more surprised to see the face-branded guards standing watch at the doors. Even as it is, they get dirty looks from passersby, but they don't react in the least. 

Inside the palace, we gain an audience with King Endrin. The old dwarf looks very weary, like he has a heavy burden on his shoulders that's adding twenty years to his age. 

"Honored Grey Wardens," Endrin says, "I bid you welcome in Orzammar. I assume you are here to spread word of the Blight? I have heard news of the spread of the darkspawn on the surface. These are trying times for all of us, I believe." 

"We come to seek your aid against the Blight," Duncan says. "This treaty..." 

Endrin shakes his head and holds up a hand. "There's no need for treaties between us. The dwarves will send aid, of course. I shall send the Warrior Caste, and tell them that if they wish to reclaim their honor, they must fight to stop this Blight. Ah, but you do not need to hear about Orzammar's troubles." 

"I already have, Your Majesty," Duncan says. "My condolences for the loss of your youngest." 

Endrin sighs. "I keep asking myself if I should have seen it coming..." 

"Bhelen was a sly one," Rispy says. "He was probably planning it for years, with no one the wiser." 

"And you have my eternal gratitude, and the gratitude of House Aeducan, for uncovering this plot and sparing the lives of my elder two sons," Endrin says. 

Duncan says, "There is another matter I wish to address. I did not come merely to request troops, but also to recruit for my order as well." He turns to Rispy. "Before these witnesses, I would like to extend a formal invitation to Rispy to join the Grey Wardens." 

Rispy bows politely to Duncan and says, "I would be honored." 

"He will be a fine addition to your order, I believe," Endrin says, nodding. 

"While we're here, I would also like to see what Caridin has been up to," Tom says. "I hear that his advancements are quite interesting." 

"I can show you the way to his workshops," Rispy says. 

Rispy leads us out of the palace and down to the commons, and into one of the shops. 

"Welcome to Janar family armory," says the dwarf at the counter. "Oh, it's you, Rispy." 

"The Grey Wardens wanted to see Caridin's workshop," Rispy says. 

"You know the way," Janar says. "Just be sure to close it up behind you, if Caridin doesn't want random people wandering in." 

Rispy goes over to move aside the shelf concealing the secret tunnel into the old Carta tunnels, and leads us inside. "Yeah, Caridin's workshop is located in the old Carta hideout. Don't want anyone stumbling upon what they're really working on down there until they're ready to release it." 

The room we emerge in at the end of the tunnel very much resembles a Shaper laboratory straight out of Terrestia. There are beakers of fluid, glass pipes and funnels, vats of bubbling liquid, sparkling crystals, magnification devices, even essence pools. I would be really interested in finding out how they got all of this to work with lyrium and local ingredients. 

"Rispy!" Dagna says, coming up to us. "Ah, we have guests? I'm afraid Caridin is busy at the moment, in the middle of a delicate mixture." 

"Dagna, these are Grey Wardens, and among them are those who gave me the information necessary to build this place," Rispy says. "They were quite interested in seeing what we have done with it." 

"Well, in that case, let me give you the guided tour," Dagna says. 

She proceeds to show us the equipment that they've built, massive and delicate projects built with the assistance of a couple of Artisan Caste families who specialized in glasswork and other relevant skills. She shows us a small firestalker that they have shaped. It's a little different from the fyoras that I was used to seeing in Terrestia, but the differences are fairly minor. 

"You are capable of creating life?" Sten asks. 

"We are," Dagna says proudly. 

"How?" Sten asks. 

"It was initially believed that this sort of work would require magic," Dagna says. "But that is not actually strictly true. While only a mage can shape essence using their own will, it is perfectly possible to use devices to achieve the same effect. Better, in fact, since they can be more closely calibrated and controlled." 

"So this is not truly magic," Sten says thoughtfully. 

"Correct," Dagna says. "The details, however, are going to be a secret that we will guard as closely as you Qunari guard your _gaatlok_." She smiles at him. "The power to create life is not something that can be trusted to just anyone." 

"Understandably," Sten says, nodding approvingly to her. "It surprises me to see that sort of wisdom in these lands." 

Caridin emerges from a side room, his huge metal feet clanging against the floor. He looks to us, and says, "Ah. I did not realize we had visitors. Rispy, I believe some introductions are in order." 

"My friends, this is the Paragon smith, Caridin," Rispy says, gesturing toward the metal golem. "Caridin, allow me to introduce Duncan, the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden; the mages Thomas Hawke and Kirlin Surana; Sten of the Beresaad of the Qunari; and this crazy man here who has too many names. Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer Dragonblood. Called Ashkaari by the Qunari. His title is Stormseeker in the trade tongue." 

"Atrast vala, honored guests," Caridin says. 

"They're the mages I told you about," Rispy says. "The ones who gave me the notes on the Shaping arts. Or Lifecrafting, as you've decided to call it." 

"Yes, there is no need to confuse it with what those in the Shaperate do," Caridin says. 

"Caridin, the Grey Wardens have recruited me to help combat the Blight," Rispy says. "Is there anything that you require that I should arrange for before I go?" 

"No," Caridin says. "Stopping the Blight is more important. Leske can handle things while you are gone." 

Things have definitely changed here if a Paragon is so casually relying upon the casteless. Have Rispy's actions really had that big of an impact? 

Rispy chuckles. "I think he's going to have his hands full as it is. The king is sending the Warrior Caste up to fight the darkspawn on the surface in hopes of them redeeming themselves for this latest debacle." 

"I would like to examine your notes," Tom says. "I am interested in seeing how you have adapted the techniques, and what you have done with your devices." 

"Given the fact that it was your own research that we based our work on, you will be one of the few outsiders who will freely be able to share in our advancements," Caridin says. "Come with me, and I will show you what we have learned." 

* * *

The next morning, we set out from Orzammar and head south, aiming for Redcliffe as our next stop along the way. 

One morning, I wake up early to see Tom propped on his elbow, looking at me thoughtfully. "What is it?" I ask. 

"Nothing," Tom says, chuckling. "I don't think the others are up yet. What do you say we go and engage in some wanton slaughter?" 

"Who, specifically?" I ask. 

"You want to save people, right?" Tom says, grinning wryly. "What do you say we go and save Brother Genitivi? He has probably already gotten himself in trouble again, as he was looking for that urn even before Arl Eamon became ill." 

"You want to go kill the dragon cultists?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "I kind of liked them, though..." 

Tom chuckles. "They are, however, the sorts of people that we could cheerfully massacre them all, without anyone caring." 

"Hmm, point," I say. "Spare the children, though." I grin at him. 

Tom laughs lightly. "Fine, fine, we spare the children. Let's go." 

I get up and get dressed, and leave a message for Kirlin, Rispy, and Duncan in the main room of the tent on the way out letting them know that we will be out on some side business and that if we're not back by the time they're ready to leave, we'll meet up with them again in Redcliffe. 

Tom and I Apparate to the road leading up to Haven, pull out our wands, and casually stroll up the path. Somehow, I think that this is Tom's idea of taking me on a date... 

"Who goes there?" says the guard. "You should turn back now. There's nothing for you in Haven." 

"Why do you even bother with this job if that's all you're ever going to do?" I wonder. "Not many people are going to come wandering up this path, and if they do, it's not like you're going to be able to do much to stop them if they're inclined to do harm." 

"I can call for help!" the guard exclaims. 

"You do that, then," I say. "Because you're going to need a lot of help. _Crucio!_ " 

I think of all the people that they've killed over the years. The hapless knights of Redcliffe in the other timeline. Whoever else might have wandered up this way by misfortune, whether exploring the mountains or simply lost. How they tortured Brother Genitivi and killed his assistant. These people _do_ deserve to die. 

But mostly, now that I've justified it to myself, I think in gleeful delight of the prospect of utterly destroying this cult. 

The guard's pained screams bring more villagers, and Tom flicks his wand to put up a shield and deflect their incoming arrows. I grin broadly, and let myself slip into combat mode, throwing out lightning and curses to destroy every enemy in sight. 

We cut a swath to the Chantry, and once Father Eirik is dead, I go over and pick up his medallion for whatever it's worth, and check out the secret door. Sure enough, Brother Genitivi is inside laying on the floor. 

"Are you here to finish me off?" Genitivi says. 

I chuckle. "We're here to save you, Brother Genitivi. What is your condition?" Tom goes over to examine him and put some healing magic into him. 

"I'll be alright, I think," Genitivi says. "You, however, are a sight for sore eyes. I thought I would never again see anyone who wasn't from this mad village." 

"Can you walk?" I say, and Genitivi stands, nodding. "Come on, let's get out of here." 

"We can't leave yet!" Genitivi says. "The Urn of Sacred Ashes is right up this mountain! It's so close, and I've worked my entire life to find it..." 

I chuckle. "I didn't say we were leaving the village, just the building. Of course we're going to find the urn. And there's a lot more cultists who need to die, too." 

"There are a lot of them, and they're dangerous," Genitivi says as we step out of the Chantry. "There isn't anyone else with you? How do the two of you expect to defeat so many cultists?" 

"We're mages," I reply. "And they don't have any templars here." 

"Apostates?" Genitivi says. "Not that I'm about to complain, mind you, even if you are." 

"Grey Wardens," I say. 

"Technically, I _am_ an apostate," Tom says with a chuckle as we make our way up the mountain. "But I'm working with the Grey Wardens to combat the Blight." 

"There's a Blight?" Genitivi says. "And how did that bring you here?" 

"We were in the neighborhood, so we thought we'd drop by," I say lightly. 

I let Genitivi open the door, and we head inside into the temple covered in snow and ice. 

Tom taps Genitivi's head with his wand and casts a Disillusionment Charm over him. "Don't make any sudden moves, and they probably won't notice you." 

"Ah, thank you," Genitivi says. "Strange, it's not as cold in here as I would have expected." 

"I put a warming spell on you, too," Tom says. "You'd best stay here out of sight for the moment. We're going to go ahead and clear out the cultists." 

"Good idea," Genitivi says. "I certainly won't mind a chance to examine this place more closely. There's so much that could be learned about Andraste's life here..." 

Tom and I leave him there for the moment and move on. There are more cultists up ahead that need to be killed, after all. And there aren't any children here to worry about. Well, that wasn't too much of an issue back in the village, either, as the children had been shuffled out of sight quite quickly once we initiated hostilities. 

While I'm pouring out the damage, Tom is focusing almost exclusively on protective spells. Perhaps it's just as well, as otherwise, I have a tendency to forget about defending myself when I'm cheerfully slaughtering things. That has been the cause of more of my deaths than I care to count. 

Once we reach the section with the dragon hatchlings, I stagger a little and pull back to myself, and set about to stun them rather than kill them. They're just babies, after all. I'm not going to start killing children. 

We come to the end of the tunnels, and Father Kolgrim says, "Halt! You have run these halls with blood, but you will go no further! Tell me, stranger, why have you done this? You have spilled the blood of the faithful and defiled hallowed ground!" 

"You don't really have much room to talk," I say. "How many have your people killed over the years?" 

"We must protect our sacred charge at all costs!" Kolgrim says. "The Maker forgives us for sins undertaken in his holy name." 

"Hello, Ser Kettle," I say. "They call me Pot. We're both hypocrites. Unfortunately for you, I'm a more powerful hypocrite than you." I grin broadly and give him a wild look, and shout, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " 

A flash of green light strikes Kolgrim dead in an instant. Maker, what a rush. I haven't really cast that spell in a while, and I'd forgotten how _good_ it feels. I giggle, giddy and light-headed for a moment, and then notice that Kolgrim's companions are attempting to attack me and bouncing off of Tom's shields. I flick my wand and send out some more spells to finish them off. When they are all dead, I lean back against Tom, panting softly. 

Tom strokes my hair lightly and says, "It has clearly been too long since you were able to indulge your appetite for destruction, if you're high on dark magic from that." 

"That felt _so_ good," I murmur. 

"So much better than being miserable and angsty, isn't it?" Tom says with a wry grin, putting an arm around my waist. 

"I can see the appeal," I say, chuckling. 

"Forget regret," Tom hisses in my ear. "The multiverse is our playground. We can do anything we wish. We can save or destroy, help or harm, explore the world or stay home and read. Our every desire can be at our fingertips. We have but to reach out and take it." 

I really can't think of a good argument to counter that. But then I think back to why I'm doing this all in the first place. To save my family. To save myself. To destroy an enemy whose power I do not know how I might be able to match. 

"Let's go," I say, pulling away. "There is a dragon ahead of us..." 

I would rather not fight Iyaza, but I don't know how she will react to me. No help for it but to find out. Tom stuns me, and we step out onto the windy mountaintop. The great purple high dragon is perched up upon a cliff nearby, looking down at us, watching us as we emerge. 

"So, Iyaza," I say, too quietly for her to hear from up there. "What do you intend to do?" 

As if in response, the dragon flies down from her perch and lands directly in front of us, blocking our path. She cranes her neck, looking at us intently, and snarls low in her throat. 

"I wasn't planning on fighting a dragon today, and would rather not have to kill you," I say. "So what will it be?" 

Such a beautiful, magnificent creature. Iyaza raises her head and roars, and then snaps at us with her teeth. 

"It would seem that you wish to fight, regardless," I say, tumbling out of the way. "Very well, then. Fight _this_!" 

I haven't practiced shifting into a dragon very often at all, but it still comes smoothly and without difficulty. I _am_ a dragon. I am merely shifting into my true form. Admittedly, a true form that is still a young dragon nowhere near Iyaza's size, but a dragon nonetheless. 

Iyaza stops and stares at me in surprise. Whatever she might have expected, that wasn't it. Still, I am threatening her territory, I suppose, and she does not back down or reconsider for long. She swoops in, and we clash in battle of teeth and claws, fire and lightning. Tom supports me from the sidelines with his magic, making up for my smaller size and weaker body. 

I might be smaller, but I'm bloody vicious, and running high on the thrill of battle. I strike with fangs and talons, darting in and out, and a good strike rips a long gash in my enemy's wing, rendering her ground-bound. No mercy. No regrets. Tom and I finish her off in a spray of blood and lightning. 

After a minute, I shift back into human form, covered in dragon blood that is not my own. 

"That was an excellent test," Tom says. "I managed to break the bonds. I don't know if it would be quite as feasable if we weren't killing Urthemiel ourselves, but at least I cleared up that one." 

"Was that the real reason why you wanted to come out here?" I ask. 

Tom chuckles. "Part of it." 

"Let's go pick up Brother Genitivi and show him that urn, then," I say. "And then not spill dragon blood into it and then murder him." 

We go to head back around to the front of the temple. Brother Genitivi hasn't moved far from where we left him, as Tom reveals when he cancels his spell. 

"Should be all clear from here on out," I say. "Shall we go find the urn now?" 

"Maker, yes," Genitivi says. 

We head through to the entrance to the gauntlet, into the building and up to where the guardian awaits. 

"Welcome, pilgrims," says the guardian. "Ah, it is you. You have returned, and you have brought more pilgrims with you. I need not ask anything further of you, but I must ask a question of your companions before you may proceed." 

"Let's get this over with," I say. 

"Brother Genitivi," the guardian says. "Do you sometimes feel that your life has been wasted, and that no one will ever take your work seriously? That even if you come and tell them you have found Andraste's final resting place, that no one will believe you?" 

"I'll admit that I have doubts sometimes," Genitivi says. "But I have held my faith in the Maker, and my long path has finally paid off. I will not turn back now." 

"Very well," the guardian says, and then turns to me. " _Ashkaari_." I'm startled to hear him call me that. Have I been Ashkaari for too long already? "Do you feel that the trust others have put in you is undeserved? Do you fear that you will not be able to live up to their expectations, and that their wishes will go unfulfilled?" 

"My life is my own," I say. "I will do my best to do what I have promised I will do, and that is all. I will not allow imagined, unreasonable demands upon my soul weigh me down." 

The guardian nods. "I have heard your answers. You may pass into the Gauntlet. If you are shown to be worthy, you may approach the Urn of Sacred Ashes." 

Tom and I already know the answers to the riddles, and so we pass through to the next room. 

Here, I find myself facing a kossith woman, and I recognize her as the tamassran who taught me most of what I know about the Qun. 

"Ashkaari," she addresses me. "Do you think you have betrayed the Qun? That you were merely using us to learn what you could from us, before you discarded us to run off and do whatever you wished?" 

"That was not my sole intention," I say. "I find some peace in the Qun, but ultimately, I believe it to be imperfect. I will not allow its flaws to destroy me." 

"And who are you to think that it is flawed? Are you so arrogant as to think that you alone can find perfection?" 

"No," I say. "But I will seek it nonetheless, even knowing that I am chasing a dream that cannot exist in reality. Still, I did not go to Qunari lands just to steal their secrets. Had you called me Karashok instead, I would have gone to fight and die without question. But instead, you called me Ashkaari, and bade me to learn, to teach, to research, to discover. And so I did." 

"But would you have done so because it was asked of you, or because you chose to?" 

"Because I chose to do what was asked of me," I reply. "There are always choices. Even if that choice is to live or to die." 

"Existence is a choice," she says. "Suffering is a choice. Life is a choice. Go, then. Go on to your choices, Ashkaari. May they bring you whatever peace they may." 

The Qunari woman vanishes, and I step forward into the next area. Here, I find myself staring back at another version of myself, surrounded by many floating masks. An apparition, a hallucination, an illusion, or what? I don't know. I don't think it really matters at the moment. 

"So you have returned, man of many names, wearer of many masks," the other me says. "Which one is the true us, underneath all of the deceptions and lies, underneath all of the roles we play?" 

Neither he nor the guardian said anything about Cassie this time, I note. Perhaps I have actually come to finally accept things as they are with her, or that it merely is not much of a worry upon my mind when she is alive and present in this world. No, instead they bring up other issues that constantly nag at the back of my mind. 

"I am myself, nothing more and nothing less," I reply. "The true me is the one that only my soulmates might ever see. And I feel no shame in that. That is simply how it must be." 

"There are always choices," says the other me. "We could have chosen to be honest with everyone. Perhaps it would have taken a lot of explanation each time, but it was still our choice to deceive. It was easier, we tell ourselves. It avoids complications. It prevents many potentially unpleasant outcomes. Are these merely things we tell ourselves to justify our choice?" 

"Fine, then," I say. "I chose this path. I do not and will not regret that choice. I will sing and dance and wear each mask of another life like an actor putting on a performance." 

"And if others care about us, or they are loyal to us, they do things for us, they give us things, thinking that we are someone who we are not, believing that we are someone else, do you not feel guilty that their feelings are misplaced?" 

"I refuse to feel guilty for others reacting to the role I play as I intend them to," I say. "That's the entire point of it, after all." 

"And one more question I have of you... Will we allow our memories to destroy us?" the other me asks. "Or will we turn to Tom's offer and let us forget that which causes us pain?" 

"That's not a question," I say. "Well, it is, but it's a question of intent, of a future that is yet uncertain. Nothing is set in stone. I don't _intend_ to allow myself to be destroyed no matter what. But how can I say with certainty what will or will not happen in the future? If I come to the realization that I cannot handle it, then yes, I will indeed turn to Tom. I don't think that anyone was meant for anything, or that there is any rhyme or reason in the universe, but if there was ever to be any meaning, I don't think a man was meant to live and remember a thousand lifetimes. Better to forget than to be driven mad by it." 

The apparition of me gives a nod, and says, "When you look into the mirror, at least you are capable of facing your true self. Do not shy away from who you really are, whatever mask you wear, whichever path you choose." 

The other me vanishes at that, and I look over to my companions and ask, "Tell me, out of curiosity, did you see the same things I did, or ones of your own?" 

"Unless you were hallucinating about Sister Theohild too, then I would guess that you saw something else," Genitivi says. 

"Sister Theohild?" I say, raising an eyebrow. 

"Yes," Genitivi replies. "She advised me something fairly incoherent involving peas and ham. I think I spent entirely too long under the tender ministrations of the mad cultists..." 

"I see," I say, blinking, and then look to Tom. "I won't ask what you saw." 

Tom chuckles. "I'll tell you later when we're alone, if you like. But only if you return the favor." He grins at me. 

"Deal," I say. 

From there on, we make our way past the gratuitous bridge puzzle again. When we come to the wall of flames afterward, I glance aside at Genitivi and start stripping. 

"Keep your clothes on, Brother," I say. "No offense, but I don't need to see you naked." 

Genitivi chuckles and shrugs. I toss aside my clothing and step through the flames, and the guardian appears again as the fire vanishes. 

"You have passed the tests of the Gauntlet and proven yourselves worthy," the guardian says. "You may approach the Sacred Ashes." 

I go to put my clothes back on and gesture to Genitivi. "Go ahead. This is your baby, so to speak." 

"The Urn of Sacred Ashes..." Genitivi says reverently, walking up onto the dais. "I can hardly believe that I have come this far. I am... undeserving of the honor of being in the presence of such a holy artifact." He kneels before the urn and quietly begins to pray. 

"Hmm," Tom says thoughtfully, staring about the area intently. "Yes, I was correct the last time I was here. Very high concentration of magic. A powerful node, a mountain of lyrium. Incredible feats of light magic could be accomplished here." 

"You aren't still considering the Ritual of Purification, are you?" I ask. 

"If I were, I would have brought a circle of seven mages, including as many light-aligned ones as I could get who were willing to do it," Tom says. "But no, Kirlin is right, it would not do any good. But this time and place is definitely something to keep in mind if any sort of light ritual is required." 

"It's a thought," I say. 

Genitivi finishes his prayer and comes back over to us. "Thank you, my friends, for your assistance, and for bringing me here. There is so much that can be learned here. I must share this knowledge with others! Pilgrims must be allowed to come and visit!" 

I smile at him. "Of course. The roads are dangerous these days with the darkspawn. We can escort you back at least as far as Redcliffe, although we'll probably be heading to Denerim ourselves after a couple stops after that. Unless you're wanting to stay here and study? We can send someone this way once we get to Redcliffe." 

"I think it would be best to travel with you," Genitivi says. "An expedition must be planned. This is the discovery of an age!" 

"Then let us be off," I say. "The urn has been here for ages. It will still be here later. We do still need to fight the Blight ourselves, though. Is there any chance that you could use this to rally the Chantry to give us support against the darkspawn?" 

"They should be doing that regardless," Genitivi says. "But I shall see what can be done. The sooner the Blight is ended, the better." 

"Let's head back through the village first," I say. "If there are any orphans out there, we ought to see about getting them to Redcliffe as well." 

"Spare the children, you said," Tom says with a smirk. "There were probably at least some villagers who went and hid instead of attacking us, if they weren't _completely_ stupid. But there are probably plenty of orphans. Provided they didn't run off into the wilderness." 


	44. Return to Denerim

As it turns out, terrified children are _not_ particularly inclined to follow after the people who just murdered their parents calmly and cheerfully. Go figure. They either run off, or hide in their homes and refuse to budge. 

"There's no help for it, I suppose," Genitivi says. "We'll need to send some other people who can take care of them. Hopefully they will be alright until we can send someone from Redcliffe." 

We set out from Haven and make our way out of the mountains. We got here sooner than last time, and Genitivi isn't as badly injured as he was in the last timeline, thankfully. I would hate to practically have to carry him down this mountain. 

We did, however, leave the tent with the others, so we've got a few days of actually roughing it ahead of us. It's not like I don't have actual bedrolls in my bag of holding, after all. Despite fireproofing the tent, I'm still paranoid, as any number of things could still happen. Such as deciding to go off on our own for a while and leaving the tent with Kirlin and Rispy. 

It's just as well that we didn't bring along any children, as we run into a sizeable group of darkspawn as we're nearing Redcliffe. Brother Genitivi is terrified, but as we have no need to hold back or hide the fact that we're mages, we sweep them away with magic as quickly as we can. It's not efficient, and requires burning through a lot of mana, but with just the two of us and a civilian to protect, this isn't a time for messing around. 

When we arrive at Redcliffe, Genitivi heads for the Chantry, and Tom and I make a stop at the castle to say hello to Gellert and see if Kirlin and Rispy are about. 

"You went off on a rampaging slaughter and didn't invite me?" Gellert says once we explain what we've been up to. "Oh, I get it. Just the two of you. Uh-huh." 

Tom snorts softly. "I had theories that I wished to test." 

"Sure you did," Gellert says. "And did you then screw like monkeys on top of a pile of corpses?" 

"What's a monkey?" asks Connor, poking his head out of a door. "And how do they screw?" 

I fold my arms and smirk at Gellert. "I'm surprised Isolde hasn't killed you yet." I turn to Connor and say, "Monkeys are animals. You can find them up north, in Seheron and around there. They're furry, and have tails, and climb trees." 

"Oh, I see," Connor says, then runs off again, sparing the question about screwing for the moment at least. 

"Have Kirlin and Rispy come in?" I ask. 

"Yeah," Gellert says. "They're around here somewhere. They were with that guy with too many belts and a bunch of those Qunari fellows, who went on ahead for Lothering." 

After a bit of looking around, we come across Kirlin, who seems rather miffed. "I can't believe you just ran off like that and left us with hardly a word. I hope whatever you were doing was important." 

Tom rolls his eyes. "We were successfully able to remove the bond from the dragon in Haven. And we escorted Brother Genitivi safely back to civilization as well. He's down at the Chantry, I believe." 

"Well, you could have at least brought me," Kirlin says. "What if one of you had gotten hurt? You're not the best healers around." 

"And that would be why you were better suited to stay with the Qunari," Tom says. 

"But you could have at least _said something_ instead of just running off and leaving a note!" 

"It was four o'clock in the morning," Tom says dryly. "Did you really want to be woken up at that hour just to argue about it for an hour? And if we hadn't had to escort Brother Genitivi back, which was not certain that we would, we might have been back before anyone even woke up." 

Kirlin sighs. "Oh, fine, whatever." 

"I really don't know what you're so upset about," Rispy says, casually coming through the doorway while munching on an apple. 

"I'm not upset!" Kirlin protests. 

"If this is 'not upset', I'd hate to see you when you're angry, then," Rispy says. 

Brother Genitivi arranged for people from the Chantry to head up to Haven, and we set out for Lothering the next morning. 

Once we arrive there, I go and locate Leliana and ask, "Hey, Sister Leliana. Gotten any signs from the Maker yet?" 

"I still think you are mocking me," Leliana replies. 

"Gently teasing, perhaps?" I say with a shrug. "But really, who am I to argue with the Maker?" 

"Sisters, I have come to spread the good news!" Brother Genitivi exclaims, coming into the Chantry behind me. "I have finally found the location of the Urn of Sacred Ashes!" 

"Maybe _that's_ a sign from the Maker?" Leliana suggests. 

"Nah, that was just us stumbling upon a mountain in the middle of nowhere," I say. 

"With the help of this Grey Warden," Genitivi says, gesturing toward me, "I was freed from captivity, and he helped to open the way to Andraste's final resting place! Surely it was the Maker's hand who guided him to me in my darkest hour!" 

Why is it that whenever anything good happens to Chantry people, they assume that the Maker must have been involved somehow? 

"Surely it is no coincidence that the urn has at last been found, with the help of a Grey Warden on the eve of a Blight!" Genitivi goes on. "Let us give what aid we may against the darkspawn!" 

"Yeah, I... really ought to meet up with Duncan in Ostagar," I mutter. "Brother Genitivi, are you coming with us to Ostagar, or will you remain here for the moment? We'll probably be back this way in a week or so, as we do still need to visit the Dalish elves and make a trip to Denerim." 

"It would probably be best for me to remain here," Genitivi says. "I will spread the good news and rally whoever I can to the cause, Grey Wardens." 

"You do that," I say. 

We do not, however, set out walking for Ostagar. Since we're no longer escorting someone at the moment who isn't soulbound to me, I think perhaps we shall try a shortcut. I do, however, have Tom stun me first before trying anything. 

"You're going to try to Apparate with me?" Rispy says, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, this ought to be fun." He chuckles. "Well, let's try it then, shall we?" 

"Dragging a dwarf through the Fade?" Tom says, giving a crooked grin. "An interesting experiment." 

"Alright, Rispy, hold on tight," I say, putting my arms around him. 

"Got it," Rispy says, clenching onto me for dear life. "Ready." 

I try to use my magic to shield both of us as much as possible, and then Apparate, trying to push us both through the Fade. It doesn't seem to want to work at first, as though I'm carrying nothing but a massive boulder, so I put more power into it. Then, suddenly, the Veil is breached, and the two of us are hurtling through the Fade. Rispy feels so _heavy_ in my arms, it's all I can do not to drop him. 

We break through to the other side and go tumbling to the ground, Rispy landing on my chest like a sack of potatoes. I'm drained and exhausted from the effort. That certainly took most of my mana reserves to accomplish that. 

"Ugh, that was particularly unpleasant," Rispy says. 

"You're telling me," I say. "Get off of me, Rispy, I can't breathe!" 

"Oops, sorry," Rispy says, clambering to the ground. 

I sit up and pull out a lyrium potion from my bag, and drink it down. Much better. We came out on the edges of Ostagar, and Tom and Kirlin appear shortly after us. 

"Well, it looks like it did work after all," Tom says. 

"I would really rather not get into a habit of doing that, however," I say, chuckling. "If anymore energy had been required, I might have had to resort to blood magic." 

We go off to find Duncan, who is currently speaking with a group of Grey Wardens, including Alistair. I have to grin when I see them, and wave over toward them. 

"Ah, you're here already?" Duncan says. "I just arrived myself." 

"We made good time," I say. 

"Where did you go, anyway?" Duncan wonders. 

"Little village up in the mountains," I say. "Rescued a lost Chantry brother, killed a lot of cultists and one high dragon, found the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Not much, really." I grin crookedly. 

"You certainly seem to get up to quite a number of interesting things," Duncan says, eyes widening. 

"Did the Qunari arrive safely?" 

Duncan nods. "They are competent fighters. We killed another couple groups of darkspawn on the way. We are fortunate to have their assistance." 

"Brother Genitivi is rallying the Chantry to our cause," I say. "I told him we'd escort him back to Denerim. He's waiting up in Lothering." 

"We do still have business in Denerim, yes," Duncan says. "I believe we shall head there next, and then when we're done there, head south into the Brecilian Forest to look for the Dalish elves. Alistair will be accompanying us, I think." 

"Sounds like a plan," I say. 

* * *

Several days later, we arrive in Denerim. I'm quite glad to finally have Brother Genitivi off my hands. Duncan can't Apparate, either, but at least he's a competent fighter, while Genitivi was pretty much just dead weight for the most part. 

Duncan heads up to the royal palace, and Tom goes along with him to make sure that King Cailan's condition is stable, that is, still sick enough to keep him off the battlefield but not so sick that it's actually going to threaten his life. 

While strolling through Denerim's market district, I run across a man who looks vaguely familiar, attempting to sell a golem control rod. 

"Just fifty sovereigns, and a mighty golem could be yours!" the man says. "An invaluable bodyguard to have at your side in dangerous times!" 

"I'll buy it," I say, pulling out my bag and starting to count out the coins. 

"Well, you're certainly rich," Alistair comments. 

"I killed a high dragon and looted her treasure hoard," I say. 

"Oh, come on, like anyone's going to believe that," Alistair replies, smirking. 

I chuckle softly that of all the excuses for coming up with for having money to burn, the one that's actually true is the least believable, apparently. 

"Thank you very much," the merchant says. "You won't regret your purchase. I'll mark the village where you can pick up the golem on your map for you. Little spot called Honnleath, down south of Redcliffe." 

As we're walking away, Alistair says, "I don't know about this. I mean, it's your money and all, but does this really sound like a good deal to you? Just buying a rod, and then having to go into the middle of a darkspawn horde to pick up the golem? Sure, golems are powerful and all, but it seems like an awful lot of money for having to do most of the work yourself." 

I shrug and shove the rod into my bag of holding. "I'm just looking to liberate the golem, really." 

"Liberate?" Alistair says. "What are you talking about?" 

"Golems are people, too," I say. "And I'm not overly fond of slavery in any form." 

"I..." Alistair blinks. "I never thought of it that way." 

"Oh, by the way," I say, pulling out a pile of dragon scales from my bag. "Why don't the two of you get yourselves some new armor? I hear Wade's Emporium does good work, and I'm sure the smith there can make some fine armor with this." 

"Wait, is that... dragon scales?" Alistair says, eyes widening. "Maker's breath, you _weren't_ joking." 

"You bring me the nicest presents," Rispy says, grinning broadly. 

Kirlin and I head off on our own, and one gate catches her attention. "Say, is this where the elves here live?" 

"That's the way to the alienage, yes," the guard at the gate says. 

"I've never actually been to an alienage before," Kirlin says, grabbing my hand and pulling me along. "Come on, let's check it out." 

I chuckle. "Alright, alright, I'm coming." 

As we pass through the gate and over the bridge, the change in scenery around us is dramatic. The alienage is rundown and filthy, the buildings looking like they were cobbled together from whatever could be scavenged and about to fall apart if someone sneezes. 

"Hey, shemlen," says an elf sitting by the road. "Those are some nice clothes. You got any coin to spare for a poor elf?" His leg looks like it's twisted the wrong way. 

"What happened to you?" I ask, pulling out a couple silvers and handing them over to him. 

"Thank you kindly, ser," the elf says. "Leg got broken real bad in an accident down at the docks. Never did heal quite right. Lucky I didn't lose the whole leg, though." 

"Let me take a look at that," Kirlin says, crouching down next to him. "Hmm. I can probably fix this, but it'll require re-breaking it again." 

"Can you really?" he asks. "How?" 

"I'm a mage, specializing in healing magic," Kirlin explains. 

"Oh, you're too kind, milady, but there's no way I can afford a real healer." 

"I didn't ask for money," Kirlin says with a faint grin. "Lexen, can you help me out here?" 

I lend her energy and assist with her spell weaving a bit, but she does most of the work. The operation would probably be quite painful if it weren't for me making sure he didn't feel anything from it. After several long minutes of work, some other elves have wandered in and are watching us curiously by the time Kirlin finishes up and straightens. 

"Alright, that should do the trick," Kirlin says. "Try standing now." 

The elf slowly climbs to his feet, testing his leg out and shaking it a bit. "Maker's breath, it's as good as new! You're truly a miracle worker, milady! I am in your debt." 

As he practically skips away, an elf woman nearby says, "My little boy has a bad cough. Can you look at him?" 

"My wife's pregnancy isn't going well--" a man begins. 

"My brother lost two fingers on his left hand--" 

"Please, give our guest some space," says an older elven man, stepping forward and gesturing at the others, who back up. "I'm sure she will come and see to your problems if she has time." 

The crowd disperses, and Kirlin nods to the elderly elf thankfully. "I don't mind, really. But one at a time, please." 

"I am Valendrian, the hahren of this alienage. And who might you be? A mage and a shemlen?" 

"I'm Kirlin Surana, and this is Lexen Chelseer." 

"Surana?" Valendrian says. "Oh, little Kirlin! I remember when you were taken away, just a girl of six years. I'm sorry to say that if you came here looking for your family, your parents have gone to the Maker's side, and your brother married a woman in the alienage in Gwaren." 

"I have a brother?" Kirlin says. "I'm afraid I don't remember much of my early life." 

"Yes, he's about a year older than you," Valendrian says. "His name is Harel." 

"Maybe I'll go and meet him sometime," Kirlin says, smiling broadly. "But no, I didn't come here looking for my family. I've just never seen an alienage before. I've been in the Circle Tower for most of my life, you see, and it's very different there. I wanted to see how the elves lived here." 

"And you brought this... human with you?" Valendrian says, raising an eyebrow. 

"He's not just some human," Kirlin says. "He's my husband." 

"I see," Valendrian says, his face darkening. "You would be wise not to mention that to anyone else, or you are likely to get an... unpleasant response. You are aware that the union of elves and humans will only produce humans?" 

"My grandmother was an elf," I say. "But I'm afraid that having children isn't exactly a high priority at the moment. We're Grey Wardens. If we don't stop the Blight, there won't be a next generation." 

"Grey Wardens?" Valendrian asks. "Is Duncan with you?" 

"He is," I reply. "He had some business at the royal palace at the moment, though. You know Duncan?" 

"I do," Valendrian says. "I have known him for many years. Is he here looking to recruit?" 

I give a nod. "There _is_ a Blight going on. More Grey Wardens are definitely needed to fight the darkspawn." 

"I see," Valendrian says. "Well, I shall leave you to your business, then. You may be outsiders, you _are_ an elf and an elf-blooded human, so I suppose there's no harm in it. Just do please try not to cause any trouble. I have things to attend to." 

He goes off and leaves us alone again, and we continue on further into the alienage. In the center of the district, there's a very large tree, its wide trunk brightly painted. 

"They really seem to revere this tree," Kirlin says quietly. 

"That's the vhenadahl, flat-ears," says one elf woman nearby, practically spitting. "Of course you wouldn't recognize it, or understand what it means, the way you adore the shems." She has black hair, and green eyes startlingly bright enough to make me do a double-take. Somehow, she seems familiar. 

Kirlin blinks and looks over to her, looking hurt. "Excuse me?" 

"Hey, don't talk to her like that," I say. 

"Or what? I'm not scared of you, shem. You don't belong here. This is our place." 

"My grandmother was an elf!" I tell her. 

"Then your grandmother betrayed her blood when she decided to lay with a shemlen. Or did your grandpa force himself on her? A pretty elf maiden for him to use in any way he pleased?" 

I growl and clench my fists, blood boiling. "You know nothing about my family, and I would appreciate if you did not make presumptions," I grate. 

A red-haired elf man comes up. "Please forgive my dear cousin. Lariole, why don't you leave the outsiders alone? I heard that they're mages, and have been healing people for free." 

_That_ would be why she looks familiar. " _Hawthorne?_ " I exclaim. 

The elf woman looks sharply at me with green eyes matching my own. " _How_ do you know that nickname, shemlen?" 

"Um..." I say. "I believe we might be related." 

"He's got a point, cousin," the man says. "You look so much alike that you could be siblings!" 

I suppose it should not surprise me as much as it does, but I did not expect to come across an alternate version of one of my close relatives. Especially not my great-grandmother, looking the same age as me. Well, not that my great-grandmother looked old anyway, but we all _knew_ that she was over eighty, even if she didn't look a day over thirty. 

"I do not want to be the sister of a shemlen, Soris," Lariole spits. "I don't even want to be the distant cousin of a shemlen!" 

"Oh, there was a woman who wanted me to look at her sick son," Kirlin says. "Let's go, Lexen. We have much to do." 

"We can look after ourselves, flat-ears!" Lariole says. 

"Have you been drinking again, Hawthorne?" Soris says. 

"Only a little!" 


	45. The Alienage

"Was this Lariole Tabris whom you met in the alienage?" Duncan asks. 

"They didn't mention her surname," I say. 

"Some years ago, I wanted to recruit an elven woman named Adaia into the Grey Wardens," Duncan says. "But Valendrian convinced me not to approach her, as there was no Blight going on at the time and hence no dire need for more Wardens, and she was getting married. I believe Lariole may be her daughter, judging by your description." 

"You knew about elves who looked like me in this world?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. 

"I didn't think much of it," Duncan says. "Given your explanation of where you are from, I assumed that it must be a coincidence. After all, black hair and green eyes isn't all _that_ strange." 

"True enough, I suppose," I say. "Although I haven't encountered anyone with quite this shade of green who wasn't related to me in some way, somehow." 

"I don't imagine that most people would even notice the particular shade of green of your eyes," Duncan says with faint amusement. "And if they did at all, they would simply notice that something was slightly off or unnatural about you, just outside the range of normal. But it's not really so far that most people would pay it any mind anyway." 

I shrug. "As you say. So are you planning to recruit Lariole into the Grey Wardens?" 

"It would certainly be worth looking into," Duncan says. "If she's anything like her mother, or I suspect her alternate universe counterpart, she would be a valuable ally to have at our side." 

"If she's anything like her counterpart," I say, "she's fucking death on legs." 

The next morning, I head back to the alienage with Duncan. After Hawthorne's treatment of her yesterday, Kirlin opts not to come along this time. Tom, however, is most curious and accompanies us. 

"It looks like they're planning for some sort of celebration?" Tom says, looking around the alienage. Makeshift decorations have been set up, some elves are already drunk, and there's a sense of revelry in the air that isn't completely masked by the distasteful looks the elves are giving us. 

"We don't need any shems interrupting our weddings," mutters a nearby elf man. 

"Who's getting married?" I wonder. 

"Why should you care, shem?" snaps the elf. 

"Hey, I have relatives here!" I reply. 

An elf woman says, "If you really must know, Lariole and Soris are getting married." 

"Not to each other," a blond elf adds quickly. "Lariole is marrying one Nelaros, from Highever, and Soris is marrying Valora." 

"But I don't want to get married!" Lariole protests in the distance, loud enough to be heard all the way down the street. 

"And _someone_ is clearly not happy about their match," says the elf woman, chuckling. 

"Ah, it's just Lariole," says the blond elf. "She's always protesting about something or other. She'll get used to it soon enough." 

We quietly head forward, trying not to interrupt the festivities, such as they are. Lariole continues to protest loudly, and she continues to be ignored or consoled by anyone nearby. 

"What are you complaining about?" Soris asks her. "Your match is quite handsome. A dream come true! _I'd_ trade you for him, even. My bride is positively a mouse." 

"I'm barely eighteen!" Lariole says. "I shouldn't be getting married yet, and especially not to someone I have no choice over! Besides, haven't you heard about the Blight? I wanted to join the army and go fight the darkspawn! This is a time for _war_ , not a time to be sticking our heads in the ground and ignoring the world!" 

"Sensible," Tom murmurs. 

"You must be Lariole?" says an elf man, approaching her tentatively. "I'm your groom, Nelaros." 

"I'm not getting married!" Lariole snaps. 

"Er, you'll have to forgive my cousin," Soris says. "She just found out that the wedding had been moved to today, and she's been taking it--" 

"I _said_ I'm not getting married!" 

"But... your father already paid the dowry, and Nelaros here came all the way from Highever..." Soris says. 

"I'm sorry, but I've spoken with him about this before, and I made my feelings on the matter clear," Lariole says. "I don't care how traditional arranged marriages are. I will marry who I chose to, when I chose to, and no sooner or later than that!" 

"I didn't--" Nelaros begins. 

"I might marry a shemlen just to spite my father!" Lariole goes on, not letting him get a word in edgewise. 

"I hardly think this ire is deserved," Soris says. "Your father is just trying to do what's best for you." 

"And who is he to decide what's best for me?" 

"Uh-oh," Tom says quietly, glancing over toward the entrance to the alienage. "Don't look now, but I don't think _they_ were invited." 

A group of finely dressed humans and guards stroll up into the wedding party, their leader appearing to be a drunken nobleman, unless I completely miss my guess. 

"Well, look at this," says the nobleman. "It's a party, and everyone's invited. Grab a whore and have some fun!" 

"Andraste's ass!" hisses Soris. "It's Vaughan, the arl's son!" 

Vaughan grabs for Lariole, who swivels about, knees him in the crotch, and decks him in the jaw. 

"Don't you dare lay your dirty shemlen hands on me, you bastard!" Lariole growls. 

"That... might not be such a good idea, Hawthorne," Soris says. 

"Oh, you're going to get it now," Vaughan says. "A pretty little knife-ears striking an arl's son?" 

"Go fuck yourself with a rusty pitchfork," Lariole snarls. 

Yeah, that's definitely about the level of subtlety I would expect from my great-grandmother. This, however, is going to end badly without interference, I fear. I can't just stand by and watch this. I step forward and approach Vaughan. 

"Pardon me, but is there a problem here?" I ask. 

"Someone else come to join the party?" Vaughan says. "You can have the mousey one over there, but _this_ bitch is mine. I am going to enjoy breaking that spirit of hers. How many times can I rape her before she can't handle it any longer?" 

My blood boils, and I clench my fists, glaring at him in a sudden spurt of rage. "You will _not_ touch her _you bastard shemlen!_ " 

Electricity crackles around me, shocking Vaughan and throwing him back a few feet. "What is this?" Vaughan says. "A mage? A bloody apostate, here? Oh, the templars are going to love this." 

"Run, Vaughan," I tell him. "Run away while you still can, or I _will_ destroy you. You will not be harming anyone here today." 

"Oh, I'll go, alright," Vaughan says. "But you better believe I'll be back for you, apostate." 

The humans turn and leave the alienage, and when they're out of sight, my blood cools and it dawns on me what I've just done. My shoulder slump and I shudder a little. "Shit," I utter. 

"I could have handled it, you know," Lariole says. 

"Of that I am certain," I say with a wry grin. "But I couldn't just stand by and watch without trying to help." 

"You really should go," Valendrian says, shaking his head slowly. "If the templars think we're harboring apostates here, things could get ugly very quickly." 

"I'm not an apostate!" I say. "I'm a Grey Warden!" 

"Will that make a difference to the templars, after you've attacked a noble?" Valendrian says. 

"The fucking shem had it coming," Lariole says. "That and much, much worse." 

"And things would be far worse for Lexen, and for us, if he had actually killed Vaughan," Valendrian points out. 

"And now Lariole is in danger as well," Duncan says. "It is likely that Vaughan will come back for her." 

"I'll rip out his spine if he touches me again!" Lariole says. 

"With your leave, Valendrian, I would like to recruit Lariole into the Grey Wardens," Duncan says. 

Lariole perks up instantly. "Me? A Grey Warden? You want me to fight the Blight? Count me in! Where do I sign up?" 

"But what about our wedding?" Nelaros puts in. 

"Look," Lariole says, turning to him. "I'm sure you're a perfectly fine man and all. But I would rather marry someone who _I_ chose for myself." 

"Lariole..." Valendrian begins. 

"Sorry, hahren, but I've made up my mind," Lariole says. "I'm going with the Grey Wardens." 

Valendrian sighs. "I cannot stop you, if that is truly what you wish." 

Lariole turns to Duncan and says, "Do I get a sword, too?" 

"Yes, you can have a sword," Duncan says in faint amusement. 

A faint blue washes over my vision, and I stagger in sudden exhaustion. I turn around with painful slowness to see a group of templars coming in across the bridge, and Vaughan is with them. 

"Yes, him!" Vaughan says, pointing at me. "He's the apostate who attacked me!" 

"He's not--" Duncan begins. 

"You dare show your face here, you goatsucking bastard of a shemlen?" Lariole says, narrowing her eyes at Vaughan. 

"Lariole..." Soris says in a warning tone. 

I hate feeling so bloody helpless. Without any mana, I can't even age myself out of existence. I didn't expect this to turn into such a mess so quickly. 

"We are trying to stop the Blight," Duncan says quietly toward me. "Not cause a massacre in the middle of Denerim." 

"That bastard wanted to rape me and my friends!" Lariole exclaims, pointing toward Vaughan. 

"How dare you make such accusations!" Vaughan says. "I am the son of the arl of Denerim. I will not have my reputation besmirched by knife-eared whores!" 

They're going to hurt Hawthorne. They might hurt Tom. They're definitely going to hurt _me_. They might even make me Tranquil. 

_You don't need to let them do this to you. You don't need to be helpless._

The whispers of demons in my ears have never been so tempting. 

No, damn it. _No_. I do not need them! _I am a dragon!_

I pull out a knife and cut my palm in one swift motion. Drawing upon the extra burst of energy in the blood, I change shape, taking on my true form. I grow and expand, a tail extending from my end and wings springing from my back, and it feels so good just to be what I am. 

"Maker's breath!" one of the templars says. 

"A blood mage!" another says. 

"To the Void with the blood magic, he _turned into a dragon_!" says a third. 

Vaughan's eyes widen, and he turns to flee. I snap at him with my jaws. Bone crunches under my fangs, and he screams. Blood spurts into my mouth. I release him and bite again, managing to get most of his torso in my mouth, clamping down on his body in a rage. In moments, he goes limp. 

Two of the templars have fled the scene, but the other three converge on me with their swords, slashing at my scaled hide. I chomp at the closest one of them. Clang! Armor. Metal. Hard. Probably enchanted. Hurts my teeth. 

They've kept my mana low, so I can't use my lightning breath. I'm left with purely physical attacks. And these blighters are wearing enchanted armor. Shit. 

I sweep my tail around and knock a templar off of his feet, slamming him into a nearby building. The other two templars cut into me with their swords. Blood runs down my hide from several gashes. 

A sword pierces my neck. I writhe in pain. I struggle to get away. It only makes the wound worse. But that's alright. At least I'm just dying. There are worse fates. 

* * *

I wake in my room in my tent. Considering how badly that went, I hope that no one else joined in to help me. 

"Ugh," I mutter. "I fucking hate templars." 

"But do you like the taste of blood?" Tom asks. 

I chuckle. "As a dragon? Certainly. Did you or Duncan restrain Lariole? I'd hate for her to have gotten caught up in all that, too." 

"Didn't need to," Tom says. "After she saw you go after Vaughan, she just stood by and watched. Quite gleefully, I might add. But she seemed perfectly content to leave you to your fate otherwise." 

I laugh softly. "I imagine if she'd had a sword in hand, she would have been first to charge, though." 

"Are you going back to the alienage?" Tom asks. 

"Of course," I say. "We just need to resolve the situation without the templars getting involved." 

"This is why you never leave witnesses," Tom says with a grin. 

I head out of my room and call in Rispy and Kirlin, and go to speak with Duncan. "There will be an incident at the alienage today," I explain. 

"I was wondering what happened..." Rispy says. 

"Vaughan, the son of the arl of Denerim, will be slightly drunk, and decide that an elven wedding party is a good place to pick up girls, whether they want to be involved with him or not," I say, scowling. 

"Oh, for Stone's sake," Rispy mutters. 

"Yeah," I agree. "Let's not just all parade in there in the open. Rispy, see about coming in from the rooftops." 

"Can do," Rispy says, nodding. 

"And Tom, I'll lend you my cloak. Kirlin's an elf, so she can blend in a little more easily. Duncan?" 

"I am capable of stealth also," Duncan replies. 

"Personally, I'd just suggest using the Imperius Curse on him to convince him to go fuck himself," Tom says with a shrug. "But that's just me. Why complicate things needlessly?" 

"Oh, like you're one to talk about overly complicated plans," I say dryly. 

"That was an alternate universe version of me," Tom says with a smirk. 

"Still," I say. "Also, Lariole doesn't want to get married, so I say we rescue her from that, too. She was really, really eager the minute Duncan said something about recruiting her into the Grey Wardens." 

"Overly eager?" Duncan asks. 

I shrug. "She wants to fight, and doesn't see any point in pretending there isn't a Blight going on by celebrating weddings." 

"That's a reasonable enough attitude," Duncan says. "Hopefully, Adaia passed on some of her skills to her daughter, as well." 

"I don't see why you tend to be so against the Imperius Curse, but have no problem with killing people who deserve it," Tom says. 

"Killing them is better than taking away their free will," I say. 

"That doesn't even make sense," Kirlin says. 

Rispy snickers softly. "I think we're past the point of expecting Lexen to make sense." 

"Besides," I say. "Mind controlling one person won't do anything about the others, and he's probably declaring his intentions toward them before he even leaves his estate. They might get suspicious of foul play if he suddenly changes his mind." 

"He's drunk," Tom says. "But suit yourself. We'll try things the messy way if you want." He shrugs. 

We head out and split up, getting into positions. Kirlin and I receive considerably less hostility in the alienage in general than I got when I was with Tom and Duncan. I have to wonder why they seem to hate humans so much. Of course, if incidents like the one with Vaughan happen here regularly, I can completely understand it. 

Lariole comes out for the wedding, loudly protesting it again. And then Vaughan and his men saunter in like they own the place and start making lewd comments. Before he can put his hands on Lariole, I step up between them. 

"Have you been drinking, ser?" I say, silently casting a spell to clear out the drunkenness from him. It's a complicated spell and one I can't actually cast very well, because it's too damned hard to cast while actually drunk, making it pretty useless. But it seems to relieve the symptoms a little, maybe. 

"What's it to you?" Vaughan asks. 

"Well, wouldn't it be embarrassing to be seen here like this?" I say furtively. "If your father caught wind of this..." 

"My father has gone off to Ostagar to fight the darkspawn," Vaughan says. "And he certainly won't be finding out about my little exploits, nor should he care if he does. And who will believe rumors spread by knife-ears?" 

"I'll be in Ostagar in a week, in fact," I say. "I could tell him exactly what all you have been up to in his absence." 

"You wouldn't dare!" Vaughan says. "And why should he believe you?" 

"I'm a Grey Warden," I say. "And did you really expect your men to stay quiet, too? Can you guarantee that they aren't going to speak careless words?" 

"Why are you even trying to talk to this shemlen?" Lariole wonders, coming up beside me. 

"Hawthorne, I'm trying to avoid getting either of us killed here today," I hiss at her. 

"Vaughan, are you going to leave now?" Lariole asks. 

"Certainly not, you little knife-eared whore," Vaughan says. 

"Then you die," Lariole says. She glances aside to me and says, "I hope you fight better than you talk." 

I sigh, and pull out a sword from my bag and toss it to her. I raise my hand to signal my companions, and order, "Kill!" 

Spells and crossbow bolts fly in out of nowhere, and I whip out my wand and fire a blast of lightning at Vaughan and his men. Hawthorne gleefully takes up the sword and, with a murderous grin on her face, charges in and very nearly bisects Vaughan. Blood and entrails spill out from the gaping wound in his torso, staining his already-ruined scarlet shirt an even darker red. 

"Run away!" cries one of the guards, and two of them turn to flee. 

"I don't think so," Tom's voice says from thin air. The men don't even make it so far as the bridge before being cut down by curses. 

Once the battle is over, Tom removes the cloak and hands it back to me, and I shove it into my bag. I turn around to see Duncan trying to calm and protect the civilians rather than joining in on the slaughter. Valendrian approaches, looking horrified at the bloody corpse of the arl's son. 

"Lariole, what have you done?" Valendrian says, and then looks to me accusingly. "You! You enabled this, you encouraged her!" 

"Would you have prefered Vaughan and his men to rape your women?" I ask. I address the elves gathered and say, "It would appear that these poor men have met with an unfortunate accident." 

Unfortunately, there's more than just elves present. There's a Chantry priest, and she says, "I can't believe you just killed those men! Certainly they had ill intentions, but this is murder!" 

" _Obliviate_ ," Tom says with a flick of his wand, and the Chantry woman gets a blank look on her face. "So, does anyone else object?" 

"Those shems had it coming," says one elf. 

"Of course I object," Valendrian says. "There will be trouble for us here for certain if this gets out." 

"No witnesses, no evidence," Tom says. "If you can be assured that your people will not talk, then we can make sure that any evidence points elsewhere rather than to the alienage." 

Rispy comes up next to me, having stuffed all the corpses into his bag of holding. "You might want to toss a couple Cleansing Charms to get rid of the bloodstains." 

"You put bloody corpses into your bag?" Kirlin says. "That's disgusting!" 

"You don't have to touch it, then," Rispy says with a smirk. 

Kirlin sighs and goes over to clean up the blood. 

"Duncan, are these your people?" Valendrian asks. 

"They are Grey Wardens and allies, yes," Duncan says. 

"You have interesting timing for Grey Wardens to suddenly start coming out of the woodwork," Valendrian comments. "And to think that this was to be a day of celebration." 

"Did you realize they were in town?" Lariole says. "Is that why you suddenly pushed up the date for my wedding? To try to marry me off so they couldn't recruit me?" 

"This was all for your own good, Lariole," Valendrian says. 

"Well, I'm sick of other people thinking that they know what's good for me and deciding things against my will for my own good," Lariole says. 

"If you wish to join the Grey Wardens, then the order would be honored to have you," Duncan says. 

"I do," Lariole says. "And can I keep the sword? Or at least get another one? This one's a little on the small side..." 

I snicker softly. "I think I've got a bigger sword in here somewhere." I start poking around in my bag of holding. 

"And where can I get a bag like that?" Lariole asks. 

"You can get it off my corpse when I'm dead," I say lightly. 

"On second thought, I think I'll keep this sword," Lariole says. "To honor my first kill, a dishonorable bastard of a shem who had it coming." 

Another elf man sighs. "I suppose I really should have seen this coming years ago, although I was hoping that marriage might settle my dear daughter down a bit. But if you are set upon this course, then all I can do is wish you well." 

"Yeah," Soris says. "Kill plenty of darkspawn for us, will you?" 

Lariole chuckles, and gives him a clumsy salute. "That I will." 

"They said I was getting married..." Nelaros is muttering. "They didn't mention that I was getting married to a violently insane woman with a penchant for swords. The Wardens can have her, so far as I'm concerned!" 


	46. Another Joining

"Maker's breath, did you hear about the horrible incident that befell the son of the arl of Denerim yesterday?" Alistair says. 

"No," I say innocently. "What happened?" 

"Apparently he got really drunk and they found him and some of his men down by the docks," Alistair says. "And there was an accident involving sharp, pointy objects, and they found him practically cut in half!" 

"That's awful," I say with feigned sympathy. 

"Why do I get the feeling that you were somehow involved in this?" Alistair says. "I have no idea how, but you were involved somehow." 

"I have no idea what you mean," I say lightly. 

"I'm sure," Alistair says. 

"Do I really seem like the suspicious kind of person?" I ask. 

"No, you seem like the kind of person who has to be in the center of everything interesting happening in a ten mile radius," Alistair says. 

"Well, I was mainly just worried that Rispy hadn't planted the false evidence well enough to throw off suspicion," I say. 

"What?" Alistair says. "Wait, what? You _did_ kill him? Maker, why?" 

"Because he was going to rape a bunch of elves, including my cousin," I reply. Well, the reality of my relationship with Hawthorne is much more complicated and would require explaining things I would rather not have to explain to him. So let's just go with 'cousin'. 

"Oh," Alistair says. "Well, I suppose that's an understandable reason, then. Wait, your cousin is an elf?" 

"Yes," I say. "My grandmother was an elf." 

"So that elf woman Duncan brought in who looks just like you except with pointed ears is your cousin!" Alistair says. 

"Yes," I say, chuckling. 

"But, still," Alistair says. "You murdered an arl's son!" 

"You're lucky I have a privacy spell up," I say with a smirk. "Besides, it was Lariole who killed him. I just handed her a sword." 

"Right, and that doesn't make you an accomplice at all," Alistair says. 

"Say, that reminds me," I say, pulling something out of my bag and handing it to him. "I picked this up in Redcliffe." 

Alistair takes the repaired Chantry amulet and says, "This belonged to my mother! And it looks like it's been repaired? Did Arl Eamon hand you this to give to me?" 

No, I just kind of stole it while looting the castle like a kleptomaniac, but I'll not mention that to Alistair. "I'm sure he really cared about you and always wanted to apologize." 

"You seem to know an awful lot about me already," Alistair says. 

I smirk. "Don't worry, I don't care if you're a royal bastard or what. Say, could you teach Lariole your templar skills?" 

"You know about--" Alistair starts, blinking. "Er, templar training? I'm really not so sure on spreading the Chantry's secrets like that..." 

"Hmm, I hear you like figurines like these," I say, pulling out a statuette that I'd picked up someplace or another. 

"Are you trying to bribe me into doing what you want?" Alistair says. "You already tried to distract me from the topic of murder." 

"It's not a bribe," I say. "Consider it a gift!" I pull out several more figurines and offer them to him. 

"Oh, hey, these are pretty neat," Alistair says, then smirks at me. "Fine, fine, I suppose I can teach the crazy, bloodthirsty elf how to fight mages. I'm surprised you'd want more templars around, though, given that you're a mage yourself." 

"And fighting enemy mages is obnoxious," I say. "I hate emissaries. You can call me a hypocrite if you really want to." 

We leave Denerim and set out for the Brecilian Forest. I'm sure it will be seen as completely a coincidence that Vaughan died while the Grey Wardens were in town. Rispy and Alistair have new sets of dragonscale armor, apparently crafted in record time by an extremely enthusiastic smith. 

Lariole is quite cheerful to be traveling along with us. "You know, we always joked about running off to find the Dalish. And now when I finally leave Denerim, where are we going first? To find the Dalish! I hope you have a better idea on where they might be found than I would." 

"Not really," I say with a shrug. "But two of us can turn into birds and scout the area around us from overhead for any signs of their camps." 

It takes a few days of searching, a good deal of overhead surveillance, and a few spells, but we finally come upon the campsite of a Dalish clan. After the reception we got from the alienage elves back in Denerim, I have Kirlin and Lariole lead the way in hopes that they might be more friendly toward them. 

Of course, the scouts at the edge of the camp grow warier and their expressions harden when they notice that these two elves are also accompanied by three humans and a dwarf, so perhaps that didn't work overly well. 

"Halt, outsiders," says one of the scouts. She's a blonde elven woman with her face marked by odd tattoos that almost seem like leaves and vines. "You are entering the camp of the Dalish clan Sabrae. What business have you here?" 

"Andraste's flaming tits, the Dalish really _do_ exist!" Lariole says. "And here I'd almost thought they were just a myth, like dragons and griffons." 

"Dragons exist, too, you know," I say with a smirk. 

Kirlin steps in and addresses the scout. "We are Grey Wardens, and we have come seeking aid against the Blight." 

"I see," says the scout. "Very well. I shall take you to Keeper Marethari." 

As we follow along after the elf woman, Rispy comments, "I wonder why there aren't any Dalish _dwarves_." 

The scout looks at him strangely. "We Dalish are those elves who keep the heritage of the Dales, and remember the lost realm of Arlathan. What do dwarves have anything to do with that?" 

"That's not what I meant," Rispy says. "I mean, after being stuck underground for so long, I find that I _like_ trees." He chuckles. 

"You are a very strange dwarf," the elven scout says. 

As we walk through the camp, Kirlin is staring around at everything. The strange landships, the white deer-like creatures, the tattooed faces of every elf that gazes over at us. I can tell just from looking at her that a thousand questions are burning in her mind, but she politely stays quiet for the moment and just looks on. 

The scout brings us up to an older elven woman with her face crisscrossed by numerous golden tattooed lines. "Keeper, these Grey Wardens have come to speak with you." 

"Ah," says Marethari. "Thank you, Variel." She turns toward us. "Welcome, Grey Wardens. We have heard word of the Blight spreading in the south already." 

"We have come in hopes of seeking your aid against the darkspawn," Duncan says. "We are gathering an army at Ostagar to combat them. The human armies of Ferelden, as well as the dwarves, mages, templars, and even a contingent of Qunari have already been sent there." 

"We have a treaty," Kirlin says. "But I'm sure that calling upon it wouldn't be necessary. You understand the importance of fighting the darkspawn and ending the Blight as quickly as possible, lest they ravage everything in their path." 

"Of course," Marethari says. "We will send what aid we can, and spread word to the other clans, although it may take some time to gather them. Unfortunately, we have already lost two of our own to the Blight as it is, one gone and one deathly ill from the taint." 

"There's someone sick here?" I say. "We may be able to help." 

"The timing of your arrival is a fortuitous occurrence, then," Marethari says. "Let me show you to where she's resting. Her name is Theryn Mahariel, and she is one of our best hunters." 

Marethari leads us over to a small infirmary that has been set up a short ways away from the main camp. An elven woman is laying fitfully asleep on a cot, tousled silver hair hanging in strands around her face tattooed with elegantly curved lines. 

"She'd gone to explore some nearby ruins with another hunter by the name of Tamlen," Marethari says. "But now Tamlen is lost to us, and while Theryn lives, her hair had changed from the black it used to be, and she has not woken in days." 

Kirlin goes over to the woman's side and examines her carefully. "Hmm. A Ritual of Purification would probably bring in every darkspawn nearby to converge upon the camp..." she says quietly. 

"If she is as skilled as you say," Duncan says, "we could recruit her into the Grey Wardens. She would thereby become immune to the taint." 

"Can you do that here?" I ask. "Or would we be able to get her to Ostagar?" 

"If there is some way that you can save her, then by all means, please do so," Marethari says. "On behalf of my clan, we will be forever grateful for any efforts you may make." 

"We will need to perform the Joining at Ostagar," Duncan says. "We do not have the resources to prepare the ritual here." 

"There, I think I can get her to wake up," Kirlin says. 

Theryn slowly stirs with a soft groan, and blue eyes blink open to stare up at us. She looks past us, unfocused, for several moments, before our presence really seems to register with her. 

"What... What happened?" Theryn asks. "Who are you?" 

"I'm Kirlin Surana. We're with the Grey Wardens. I'm afraid you're very ill, and we're going to need to get you to Ostagar before we can really help you any further." 

"I'm sick?" Theryn asks. "What's wrong with me? I feel alright... I think. I'm not sure. And where's Tamlen? Is he alright?" 

"I'm afraid he's gone," Marethari says. "There's nothing that can be done for him now. You, however, might still be saved, perhaps." 

"You are ill with the blight sickness," Duncan says. "I am offering you the opportunity to join the Grey Wardens, which will grant immunity to it. You will, however, need to help us fight the darkspawn, of course." 

"You want me to be a Grey Warden?" Theryn says. 

"We could just perform the Ritual of Purification at Ostagar," I suggest. "It's a more secure location and all..." 

"Assuming it even works and doesn't do anything unforeseen," Tom says. 

"And, of course, she might just die anyway," Rispy says. 

Lariole snorts. "There's no need to confuse the issue. Theryn! You want to come with us and kill stuff?" 

"Sure," Theryn says. 

"See?" Lariole says. "Easy as that." 

"It's not really quite that simple..." Tom says. 

"Now who's overcomplicating things?" I say. 

"Well, we'd better get you to Ostagar soon, then," Kirlin says. "I think you've got a week, maybe two." 

"I just kind of wish that we hadn't found that blighted mirror," Theryn murmurs. "Tamlen touched it... and something weird happened." 

"The mirror is broken now, regardless," Marethari says. 

"It's probably just as well, I suppose," Theryn says, shaking her head and slowly rising. "Well, if we're going to Ostagar, we'd best get moving right away." She still seems dizzy, and staggers a little. 

"Are you alright?" Kirlin says. "Can you walk?" 

"I'm fine," Theryn says. "Just a bit hungry. And we can eat on the road." 

"We could stay the night in the camp," Duncan says. "Give you a chance to say goodbye to your friends and family." 

Theryn shakes her head. "No. I don't like goodbyes. If I see them again, then it won't matter. And if I don't, we will still remember one another regardless." She gives a faint smile. "And I assume that I will _always_ be able to see them again, in this life or another." 

Marethari nods to her, and says, "Then go, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent." 

We leave the Dalish camp the same day, and make straight for Ostagar. Even if we make good time, it will still be a few days' journey at least, but I don't dare attempt to Apparate with Duncan or Theryn. 

"I haven't met many humans before," Theryn says. "And I've never met a dwarf. Tell me, are you from Orzammar? What's it like there?" 

"Hot and tight," Rispy replies, then glares at me and Tom. "And no lewd comments, from either of you." 

"I wasn't going to say anything," I say with a smirk. 

We arrive back at Ostagar, and Duncan immediately starts making arrangements for the Joining ceremony. Tom volunteers to prepare the chalice of blood, probably at least in part so he can get the details about it more than anything else, although it would not surprise me if he had already figured most of it out on his own by now. 

Duncan addresses Tom, Kirlin, and Rispy, and says, "I would prefer it if you all would take part in the Joining. You know far more about the Grey Wardens and their secrets than we normally allow outsiders to know. However, given your... unique status, there is little I could do about it if you were to refuse, nor could I entirely blame you, either, given the potential consequences as seen with Lexen." 

"Of course I'm going to do it," Rispy says. 

"We do not know whether we will actually be able to break this," Tom says. 

Rispy snorts softly. "Aren't you and Lexen always saying that anything is possible? Besides, I'm not exactly going into this with the intention of needing it to be broken later on. What kind of commitment to duty is that?" 

"The only reason I would have even wanted it broken is because of the aforementioned unforeseen consequences," I say quietly. "I did not realize exactly what it would do, or that it would carry over from one life into the next, or that it would start to slowly drive me mad." 

"Don't tell me you're still having trouble with the nightmares, are you, Lexen?" Kirlin says. 

"Always," I say. "I can hardly close my eyes without seeing Urthemiel in my mind. Just because I don't mention it and don't dwell on it and try to ignore it as best as I can doesn't mean it's okay, or that it's gotten better or has gone away." 

Kirlin sighs. "Alright... well... in for a copper, in for a sovereign. If it becomes necessary or prudent to break it, it can be done for all of us as easily as for one of us. And if that's not possible or feasable, then we're all in the same boat, anyway." 

"Sure, sure, why don't we get Gellert in here, too?" Rispy says. 

"I must decline," Tom says. "If worse comes to worst, at least one of us must remain sane in order to find a solution and reverse the effects." 

"Is there any good reason why any of you should do this, anyway?" I wonder. "Is there any real benefit from doing so?" 

"You've got your ritual planned," Rispy says. "But if something goes wrong there... somebody needs to stop the blighted archdemon." 

"We tried that once already, remember?" I say. "Duncan stabbed the damned thing right through the head. Fwoosh! And nothing. She just jumped to another body, as if she hadn't been killed by a Grey Warden at all?" 

"Then maybe it would work if _I_ were to do it, since I'm bound to you, too," Rispy says. 

"I don't know if it works that way..." Kirlin says. 

"I don't think any of us know exactly how it works," I say. 

"And I'm going to expressly forbid any actions that provide a high risk of me being killed permanently, thank you very much," Tom says. 

Rispy glares at him. "Then perhaps it would be best if I _were_ to die permanently in taking down the archdemon. _I_ am not afraid to spend my life in a good cause." 

"And how many more good causes could you champion if you were to keep your life and fight for justice on a thousand more worlds?" I say quietly. 

"Nobody's going to die permanently!" Kirlin says. "Gellert already taught me the ritual, and it's going to work, alright?" 

"And will it still work if you are tainted as well?" Tom asks. 

"I... I don't know," Kirlin says. "It requires the man to be, yes, but I don't know about me..." 

"Then do not complicate things by throwing in potential problems," Tom says. 

"Fine," Kirlin says, a little miffed. 

"And regardless, Duncan, you should not fear us spreading your secrets," Tom says. "You are, after all, the only one in this world who knows all of _our_ secrets. And from my point of view, those are far more important than some minor details that you cling to stubbornly." 

"I don't know that I would consider dying to stop a Blight to be a minor detail," Rispy says. 

"No, if anything, that one _should_ be public knowledge," Tom says. 

"People would not be likely to join if they knew it meant dying," Duncan says. "Whether in the Joining, against an archdemon, or with the Calling later on." 

I shake my head. "Lying to recruits is _not_ a good thing. If you can't get people who are willing to risk their lives for a good cause, what do you think you are doing, anyway? And I sure as _fuck_ don't think it's right to conscript people against their will, not even to fight to save the world. Better that they die by their own choice." 

"I don't think an army of volunteers can really work," Duncan says. 

"Can't it?" I demand. 

"Desertion is already always a problem with the regular armies," Duncan says. "At least Grey Wardens can't really desert. They will wind up fighting darkspawn, sooner or later, whether they wish to or not." 

"I'd like nothing better than to prove you wrong, but this isn't the time or place for it, I fear. I'm not the one in charge here, and I can't change the world overnight. Perhaps in another lifetime." I shrug. 

"Yes, let's just get on with the Joining," Duncan says. "If you have decided that Rispy will be the only one participating, then come along." 

I have Tom stun me just before the Joining ritual, just in case. There's no sense in having Lariole or Theryn die pointlessly here if I can do something about it. 

"Lexen," Duncan says. "You may do the honors of speaking the words for the ceremony." 

I give a nod and say, "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you." 

Lariole goes first, eagerly taking up the cup and drinking of the enchanted blood. She promptly collapses, and I look over to her worriedly before it registers in my mind that she didn't display any of the signs of someone about to fail the Joining. 

"She will live," Duncan says. "Step forward, Theryn." 

The silver-haired elf goes next, and drinks from the chalice herself. She also collapses, and also appears that she will survive. Then finally, Rispy goes up and drinks. He, on the other hand, falls to the ground coughing and spasming horribly. It's probably just as well that Lariole and Theryn are still unconscious. 

All things considered, I have to wonder if the Joining ritual just disagrees somehow with people who are already soulbound to someone else. I suppose I'll have to go back and tell Duncan that Rispy won't be going through with the Joining after all. 

"Lexen," Tom says. "Hand me the ring." 

"What ring?" I ask. 

"The Peverell ring that should still be in your old bag of holding," Tom says. "From Wizarding-Gamma. The one with the Resurrection Stone?" 

"Shit, I completely forgot about that thing," I say, fishing it out of the bag and passing it over to him. 

"Well, it _has_ been over a hundred years since we used the thing," Tom says, slipping it onto his finger. 

"A... Resurrection Stone?" Duncan says. "Such a thing exists?" 

"It's not quite as useful as it sounds," Tom says. "But I'm going to see if I can manage this. It's still the hour of midnight... perhaps a little blood magic. Lexen, some of your blood, if you would please." 

"We could just go back, you know," I say. 

"I want to try this," Tom says. "I've been meaning to, but haven't really had an opportunity. Usually, _you're_ the one getting killed." 

"Alright, alright, let's see what you can do, then," I say. 

I contribute my dragon's blood to Tom's resurrection ritual, and I could swear that he's making half of it up on the spot. He draws runes in blood on Rispy's face while chanting in some lost tongue that I really ought to learn sometime. The runes begin to glow an eerie green color, and energy swirls around the three of us. 

"I really wish we were on a strong dark node," Tom murmurs. "But I think I can manage this. Just need to shove his soul back into his body..." 

Rispy takes in a gasping breath, and starts hacking and coughing again. 

"... and clear this up a bit," Tom says. "No, no, I'm losing him again. Need more energy! Lexen! More blood!" 

"More blood?" I say. "Alright then..." I slash open my wrist with my knife, and the scarlet blood that flows out hovers into the air, swirling around Tom in a tornado of power. 

"There, yes!" Tom says. "Yes, I can do this!" 

My head is spinning. I'm dizzy and light-headed from blood loss. I stagger and fall to my knees as I fail to remain standing. 

"Lexen!" Kirlin says, rushing up to my side. "Andraste's sword, Tom, you took too much. He's lost too much blood." 

"Then heal him," Tom says offhandedly. 

"Ugh, my head..." Rispy groans. "What's going on?" 

"Does anyone mind if I pass out for a few days?" I say, staring at them with blurry vision. Kirlin is trying to heal me, but exhaustion is hanging heavily on me. 

"Go ahead," Tom says. 

"Thanks," I mutter, and let the darkness overtake me, and with it the nightmares. 


	47. Waking the Statue

I wake in my room in my tent, alone. A quick check of the time and date reveals that, unsurprisingly, three days have passed since that Joining ritual. My stomach could tell me that just as easily, however. I stumble out of my room to grab a big breakfast. Tom and Kirlin are sitting in the main room of the tent, eating as well, when I come out. 

"Did it work?" I ask Tom. 

Kirlin snorts softly. "That's the first thing you ask?" 

"He has priorities," Tom says with a shrug. 

"You're not even concerned about the fact that Tom almost killed you just for the sake of a needless experiment?" Kirlin says. 

"Like I'm concerned about dying?" I say. "I was going to kill myself anyway! So did it work or not?" 

"It worked," Tom says. "I wouldn't advise trying that again without making some adjustments to the ritual, of course. The body needs to be in a condition capable of holding the soul when it is returned to the body. And the taint affects some differently than others. Some people just die, while others become ghouls. I believe that Grey Wardens who can survive the Joining are those who would generally become ghouls rather than die." 

"Then how did I manage to survive it on my third try?" I ask. 

" _Your_ soul is a very stubborn, persistant thing," Tom says. "This would also explain why you were experiencing the Calling from the moment you completed the Joining. The Calling is when the Grey Warden ritual cannot hold off the taint any longer and they revert toward becoming ghouls again, I believe." 

"So... Jory being capable of succeeding the Joining was nothing special about him," I say quietly. "No strength of will or inherent spirit, just a quirk of physical makeup?" 

"Perhaps," Tom says, shrugging again. "I do not have enough evidence to draw any solid conclusions yet. All I have are reasonable guesses. Although perhaps if the particular physical difference can be isolated, it would be possible to construct a canister or other such device to alter a person to allow for that, perhaps even modify the Joining ritual itself to make that adjustment on its own... hmm." 

"How is Rispy?" I ask. 

"He's fine," Tom says. "Aside from the fact that he's showing signs of ghoulness." 

"Gah," I mutter. "Why didn't you just kill me and let me reset it?" 

"We were able to keep Rispy alive, at least," Kirlin says. 

"I used the power in your blood to balance out the taint in his body," Tom says. "It seems to have worked well enough for the moment. I've been working on a more permanent solution." 

"You could have just _let me reset it_ and not had to worry about that," I say. 

"You never learn anything if you don't try anything," Tom says. 

I finish up eating and go out to find Rispy with Tom and Kirlin trailing along behind me. "Hey, Rispy," I say when I locate him practicing with his crossbow at a target next to Theryn. "How are you doing?" 

"I've been better," Rispy says. "But I knew this might not be pleasant going into it, so I shouldn't expect that to change just because it's upon me." 

"Having much trouble with the nightmares?" I ask. 

"It's manageable," Rispy says. 

"I'll take some dreams of darkspawn and dragons over being dead and not being able to do anything anyday," Theryn says. 

"What's the status on the armies?" I ask. 

"Still trickling in," Rispy says. "Though I imagine it will be a while before everyone's here. Caridin sent word that he was on the way and intends to present the fruits of his recent labors in battle against the darkspawn." 

"It'll take a while to gather the Dalish," Theryn says. "I just hope they don't arrive too late to help." 

I give a nod. "Well, in the meantime, how would you like to take a little side trip, then? We can go and gather another potential ally while we're waiting." 

"Who's that?" Rispy asks. 

"The golem in Honnleath," I say. "It's just a few days' travel to the west." 

"Sounds good to me," Rispy says. 

"Yes, you should stay close so we can continue to monitor your status," Tom says. 

"I think I'd best perhaps stay here, unless you really need me along," Theryn says. 

I nod to her, and glance aside to my bondmates. "Yes, let's just make it the four of us, shall we?" 

There's advantage to that, like not having to worry too much about what we say around one another, or making people wonder why we keep putting up privacy spells constantly. 

So, after telling Duncan where we're going, the four of us set off for the village of Honnleath, making our way through the darkspawn-infested wilds. Which, of course, means stopping ten to twenty times a day to kill a group of darkspawn along the way. 

"So what are we going to do if the archdemon decides to attack us while we're out here away from the rest of the army, anyway?" Rispy wonders. 

"Have sex and then kill her," I reply. 

"I really don't need to know any of the details of that ritual," Rispy says, rolling his eyes. 

"What _is_ the archdemon doing, anyway?" Kirlin wonders. 

"According to the map, she's just kind of dicking around south of here," I say. "I have no idea what she's doing, or if she's looking for something, I don't know. Maybe she's having tea parties with Flemeth for all I know." 

"Your dreams don't give you any hints about what she might be thinking?" Tom asks. 

I shake my head. "Maybe if _you_ had gone through with the Joining ritual, you could have used your awesome Legilimency skills to get into Urthemiel's head and find out what she's doing." I smirk. 

"Hmm..." Tom says. "I hadn't considered that." 

"Too late now, unless you want to make Duncan prepare it again," I say. 

"It's probably not worth the price for such a small and fleeting advantage, though," Tom says. 

On the morning of the third day, we arrive at the village of Honnleath. Unsurprisingly, it has already been overrun by darkspawn, and there's no one here alive that isn't a soulless monster trying to kill us. 

In the center of the village, we find the golem the merchant had mentioned to us, standing completely still and in what would appear to be a somewhat angry pose, hands raised in the air. I dig out the control rod from my bag of holding and approach the statue. 

"Dulef gar," I say, waving the rod, remembering the command word I had been told. However, nothing happens. I wave it a bit more and repeat, "Dulef gar, dulef gar, damn it! Bah." 

"Either the rod is broken, or we were told the wrong command word," Tom says. 

"Let's look around a bit more," I say. "Maybe someone else knew the command word." 

"Everyone here is dead," Rispy points out. 

"Maybe someone hid away in a basement or wardrobe," I say with a shrug. 

"Because hiding in a wardrobe is always the ideal solution when monsters are rampaging through your home," Rispy says. 

We go and poke around at some of the nearby buildings, but find no sign of any survivors. Then I come upon one door with stairs behind it. "Looks like this one leads down into a cellar. Let's check it out." 

There are, of course, darkspawn down there as well, making me wonder if anyone could have survived in this place. There are a number of bookshelves along the walls, and I casually skim the titles. Judging by the subject matter, this place might have been the home of a mage. I grab any books that look interesting and shove them into my bag. 

Then, further down in the cellar, we come upon a shimmering blue barrier with a number of people cowering behind it. "Thank the Maker," I say. "I was wondering if we were going to find anyone still alive here at all. Are you alright?" 

"We're fine," says a young man. "A bit tired and hungry, but otherwise we're fine. Thank you so much for coming. Did the bann send you?" 

I shake my head. "No. We're Grey Wardens. It should be safe outside for the moment. We've killed all the darkspawn in the area. But I'd advise fleeing to Redcliffe." 

"We're fortunate indeed that Grey Wardens came to help, then," the man says. He touches the barrier, and it becomes clear, and the villagers run past us out of the cellar. "But if you don't mind me asking, why are you really here? I can't imagine you're just wandering through the wilds killing darkspawn randomly, are you?" 

I shrug. "Nah. They don't tend to have good loot, and if you've killed one genlock... well, you still have thousands more left to kill, but you get the idea." 

"We were hoping that someone might know the proper control word for the golem outside," Tom says. 

"Oh, I see," the man says, his tone quickly becoming unhappy. "So it seems that Mother gave them the wrong command word when she sold the rod... Are you aware that that blighted golem murdered my father?" 

"Oh?" I say. "What did your father do to anger the golem?" 

He glares at me. "Don't you blame my father for that creature's actions. Look, if you want to take that damned statue away, you're welcome to it, as far as I'm concerned. However, before I give you the proper command word, I must ask something of you first." 

"Of course," Tom says with a smirk. 

"My daughter Amalia ran further into the laboratory. There are defenses in there, placed while my father was still alive, and I don't know how she got past them, but she may be in great danger. We haven't been able to go in and look for her." 

"Don't worry," I say. "We'll find your daughter and bring her back safely if we can." 

"Good. I don't know what my father was doing here that required so many defenses, or why the Circle allowed him to work out here, but I would hate to see anything happen to my daughter because of it." 

"Probably doing experiments that are best done away from a node," Tom suggests. "Or away from the watchful eye of the templars, which is the more likely possibility." 

"Are you suggesting that my father was involved in something sinister?" 

"Just because I think the templars are overzealous doesn't mean I think that magical research of any sort is _sinister_ ," Tom replies. 

"Well, whatever he was doing here, please save my daughter. Then I will give you the command word, if you really want it." 

"That's a fair deal," Tom says. 

I snort softly. "I think all of us here except you would be willing to save her even without bargaining for the life of a little girl. Let's go." I turn to head through the door leading deeper into the laboratory. 

"I'll wean you of the do-gooding impulse eventually," Tom says lightly. 

The defenses on the laboratory appear to be a series of barriers, shades, and spells. Nothing that we have any serious problems getting through, but that might be dangerous for an untrained person to attempt to get through. Still, I'm paranoid enough not to let myself get complacent just because something seems too easy, and I have Tom stun me regularly just in case. 

Then, at the far end of the laboratory and past another transparent barrier that lets us pass through, we come upon a young girl and a cat. 

"Oh, hello," the girl says. "Have you come to play? We're playing a game!" 

"We?" I say. "You and the cat, I assume?" 

"Don't be silly, there's nobody else here." 

"You're Amalia, right? You shouldn't be down here," I say. "Come on. Your father is worried about you. You can bring the cat." 

Amalia shakes her head. "Kitty says she can't go. I don't want to leave her down here. She'd be lonely." 

"You are too kind, Amalia," says the cat in an eerie voice, with glowing purple eyes. 

"Amalia," I say in a warning tone, dropping into a wary stance. "Step away from the creature. It's a demon." 

"Don't be silly!" Amalia says. "Kitty is just a cat." 

"You will not be able to convince her of anything," the cat says. "The girl loves me and would like nothing better than to do whatever I want." 

"Clearly this was what the old mage was experimenting with," Tom says. "I wonder if he learned anything of interest?" 

"I know not what he might have learned from me," says the demonic cat. "But I have been trapped down here alone for decades. The girl's arrival was a welcome change from the loneliness of my isolation." 

"What have you done to the girl?" I ask. 

"Done? I have done nothing. She stays with me of her own free will. Now, I wish to be free of this chamber. Why don't we make a deal?" 

I shake my head. "No. No deals with demons." 

"I _will_ have my freedom!" the cat says. Suddenly, she lifts into the air in swirling black energy in front of the girl, surrounding her and penetrating her body. The girl grins at me wickedly for a moment before shifting into the form of a shapely, violet-skinned desire demon. 

After a volley of spells and a stabbing from Rispy, the demon is quickly vanquished. Still, that could have gone better. 

"Alright," I say, sighing. "Let's go see if we can find a way to _actually_ save the little girl, shall we?" 

"If you like," Tom says, shrugging. 

"You know, you could at least _pretend_ not to be evil," Kirlin says. 

"I do," Tom says. "In front of people who I'm trying to be discreet and secretive for. But what purpose would pretending to be something I'm not serve with those who know who and what I truly am?" 

"Oh, never mind," Kirlin says. "Let's just go save the girl." 

I age myself out of existence to return us to just outside the chamber. 

* * *

I wake, and we go back into the room with the girl and the cat again. I think I'd best be a bit more cautious when dealing with this creature. I consider just stunning the girl and dragging her out of there, but the demon could still possess her while stunned anyway, most likely. 

"Well, hello there, Kitty," I say politely. "Aren't you a pretty kitty?" 

"Ah, someone else appreciates me," Kitty says, stretching languidly. "It's nice to have another admirer." 

"Kitty is so pretty and perfect!" Amalia says. 

"Perhaps you could do me a favor," Kitty says. "I am trapped in this room, and would like to leave. Free me, and let me take the girl." 

"Are you suggesting that you want to possess her?" I say. 

"That's such a crude way of putting it," Kitty says. "I merely wish to experience the world through her eyes. Is that such a bad thing?" 

"That would depend," I say. "Is she a willing participant?" 

"I want to stay with Kitty forever and ever!" Amalia says. "She is my best friend!" 

I sigh. "Freedom for all beings includes demons, too, I suppose." 

"I don't think she truly understands what she has gotten herself into," Kirlin says quietly. 

"Can we be certain that you're not just going to go out and cause trouble in the world?" Rispy says. 

"I have no wish to cause trouble for anyone else," Kitty says. "I only wish to see the world and feel as mortals do." 

"I don't trust this creature," Rispy says to me, scowling. "But do as you will." 

"Alright," I say. "I will free you. But don't make me regret this." 

"Excellent," Kitty says. "I believe the key to releasing me lies in the runes behind me. Hopefully, you might succeed where the girl failed." 

I go over to take a closer look at the runes in question. There's a series of moveable tiles, with arrows pointing in different directions and flames running along the top in the direction of the arrows. 

"Fuck's sake," I mutter. "What is it with people and their proclivity toward creating ridiculous puzzles like this?" 

"Are you also unable to solve it?" Kitty asks. 

"I'm sure I could manage it, but it would take time and effort that frankly I can't be bothered to expend," I say with a snort. "I think I'd much rather just cut the Gordian knot here." 

"What do you mean?" the cat asks. 

I pull out my knife and cut the palm of my right hand, letting blood spill out, but as I channel it into energy, it swirls in a circle in the air around me. I pull my Elder Wand out of my bag into my left hand. I prefer using my own wand, but when sheer power is required, this one can't be beaten. 

"What are you doing?" Amalia wonders, staring at me in fear and wonderment. 

" _TAKING FREEDOM!_ " I scream, raising my hands to the air and pointing the wand at the barrier. 

The tiles on the floor shatter into fragments flying in all directions. The barrier flashes and breaks apart in a shower of sparks. 

"Was that really necessary?" Rispy says. "You could have just done the puzzle." 

I shrug. "I'm lazy." 

"So lazy that you'll perform an incredible magical feat rather than just move around a few floor tiles?" Rispy says, raising an eyebrow. 

"... Yes." 

"At long last, freedom! Come on, Amalia," Kitty says. "Let me inside you. We are going to have so much fun together." 

Amalia claps her hands together and says, "Alright, Kitty!" Dark energy swirls around the girl for a few moments, but this time she doesn't change form. Instead, when it's done, she speaks in a strange voice, "Yes. So wonderful. Seeing and feeling as mortals do... I will go and see my father. I'm sure he will be glad that his daughter is safe and well." She leaves the room. 

"I can't believe you just did that," Kirlin says. 

"What?" I say. "She was willing. Who am I to deny someone their free choice, even if I think it a foolish one?" 

"She was just a little girl!" Kirlin says. "She had no idea what she was getting into or what the consequences will be!" 

"Then what would you suggest?" I say. 

"Let's go back and convince her to reject the demon, then," Kirlin says. "That will still be her choice, too, right?" 

"Fine, fine," I say, sighing and aging myself down one more time. 

* * *

I wake outside the demon's prison chamber, and we head back inside. Amalia invites us to play, and Kitty's eyes start glowing purple as she speaks to us. 

"Oh, look, a possessed cat," I say lightly. "Well, it's clearly not a rage demon, or the girl would be in bloody shreds by now. So, let me take a guess. You're a sloth demon, right?" 

"Why would you think I'm a sloth demon?" the cat says. 

"Well, because cats are lazy and like to spend a lot of time asleep," I say. "Or perhaps you're a hunger demon? Nah, cats snub their food too much for that. Maybe a pride demon? Yeah, cats think they're the greatest things ever, right?" 

"No, no, no!" Kitty says. "I'm a desire demon!" 

"You're a demon?" Amalia says in surprise, stepping away from the cat. 

"Relax, Amalia," Kitty says. "I'm your friend, remember? We'll have lots of fun together?" 

"Demons aren't anyone's friends," I say. "They just want to use you for their own purposes. Dealing with them is extremely dangerous even in the best of circumstances." 

"The girl will be mine!" Kitty says. "You will not keep her from me!" 

"Kitty, you're scaring me!" Amalia says. "Stay away!" She turns and runs out of the room. 

"You have cost me my prize, mortals," Kitty says. "But I can still gain my freedom somehow. I will take it with your blood!" 

The cat transforms into a demon again, purple skin and elegantly curved horns. She raises her hands and before I can get my wand in hand, she summons several rage demons. Damn it, we killed her last time before she could summon in anything else. 

I think of eternity. Of endless possibilities. Of an infinite array of choices spiraling off in every direction. I smile, and say, " _Expecto Patronum!_ " 

The great silvery dragon emerges from the end of my wand, and slams into the demons as if it were solid. Eternity sweeps them away with claws and tail, and bears down upon the desire demon with her horns. 

"A spirit of hope!?" the desire demon shrieks. "What manner of mortal are you?" 

"You think that's strange?" I say. "All of my friends can summon them too. The ones who are mages, anyway. Now, you were complaining that you've been trapped here for decades. How about we just send you back to the Fade where you belong? Or did you seriously think you could kill us? Now, do you want to do this the easy way, or the painful way?" 

"Fine!" the demon says. "I can't fight against _this_! Send me back, then, just please don't leave me here!" 

I nod, and dismiss my dragon Patronus. I gesture toward Tom to perform the exorcism. 

"Alright, m'dear, let's send you home," Tom says. "Do you mind if I call on you again sometime?" He grins at her. 

"Tom!" I snap. 

Tom shrugs. "Perhaps not." He waves, and the desire demon vanishes. 

We head upstairs again to make sure Amalia got back safely, and find her hugging her father, latching onto his leg for dear life. 

"Thank you for saving Amalia. As agreed, the command word for the golem is 'dulen harn', if you still want the thing." 

I nod to him and say, "It was no problem." 

We head back outside to where the golem is still standing like a statue. Well, golems _are_ technically statues, I suppose. Just statues magically animated with souls. 

I pull out the control rod and wave it in front of the golem, and say, "Dulen harn." 

This time, the golem stirs and moves, arms lowering and head angling down to look at me. "I see that someone finally found that control rod. And it is another mage, isn't it. Three of them, no less. And a dwarf." 

"How can you tell we're mages?" I say. "We're not even wearing the usual obvious robes. Well, alright, I suppose Kirlin's could be called a robe..." 

"It's a dress," Kirlin says. 

"Does it think that the crystals on my body are merely for show? I can sense the energies in it and the other two." 

"Nice," I say, "That must be useful." 

"So tell me, did any of the villagers survive, or did the darkspawn slaughter them all?" 

"Some of them got away," I say. "They probably came scurrying out of the cellar behind you and ran off. Anyway, I'm Lexen, and these are Tom, Kirlin, and Rispy. What's your name?" 

"It is difficult to remember," the golem says. "I have been called merely 'golem' for so long. But, it does have the control rod, doesn't it? I can see it there, but I feel... I don't know. Give me an order." 

"I would really rather not," I say. "I came here to free you and make sure that no one else would be able to enslave you again, and have no intention of doing so myself." 

"Lexen!" Kirlin hisses. "We really should be careful. If this golem murdered the old mage--" 

"--you mean the one who was summoning and experimenting with demons?" I say. 

"I see your point," Kirlin says. 

"So then, I hereby command you to do whatever you wish to do for the rest of your days," I say. 

"I... appreciate the sentiment, as surprising as it is, but that was not what I was asking," the golem says. "No matter. One way or another, I feel absolutely no compulsion to carry out any of its commands." 

"That's good," I say. "Still, I'd rather make sure nobody else gets their hands on this, just in case." I shove it back into my bag. 

"Whoever finds our corpses will spend months just sifting through all our crap," Rispy says with a smirk. 

"I have no idea what I might wish to do, however," the golem says. "I do not know what might be outside of this village, and remember very little of any life in which I was not simply standing around like a statue." 

"If you are willing to fight darkspawn, we are gathering an army to combat the Blight," I say. 

"Ah, so it came here to recruit me to fight, did it?" 

"Only if you are willing," I say. 

"I have no objection to squishing soft, fleshy creatures with bones and blood," the golem says. 

"You'll get along great with us, then," Rispy says with a smirk. "Except for Kirlin, anyway." 

"Then I will follow it," the golem says. "And my name is Shale." 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Shale," I say. "Shall we head off, then? Our army is camped at Ostagar, a few days' travel to the east." 

We set off the same day, trekking back through the wilds. On the second day out, I come upon Kirlin adjusting the crystals adorning Shale's body, and I overhear Shale expressing the desire to "glitter from ear to ear". 

"So, um, no offense, Shale," I say. "But are you a woman, or gay?" 

"I am a golem," Shale says. "Biological gender or preference means little to me." 

"True," I say. "But do you know what you were while you were alive?" 

"Am I not alive now?" 

"I mean, while you were a dwarf?" I clarify. 

"I was a dwarf?" Shale says. "It is hard to imagine ever having been a soft, weak, squishy creature." 

"Yeah," I say. "The golems were created with the souls of dwarves." 

"That is interesting to know, but I am quite happy with being the way I am. Now, why don't we go find some more darkspawn to slaughter? That is a girly thing to do, isn't it?" 

When we arrive back at Ostagar, Caridin and his contingent are quite obvious by the small horde of firestalkers around the towering metal golem. 

"Atrast vala, Caridin," Rispy says, waving over to him and going to approach. 

"Caridin?" Shale repeats in a strange tone. 

"I am glad to see you well, Rispy," Caridin says. "And who is this you have brought with you?" 

"This is Shale," Rispy says. 

"Shale..." Caridin repeats. "Shayle, of House Cadash." 

"You remember me?" Shale says. "I... remember little. But I think I know your name." 

"Yes, you were one of the first to volunteer to become a golem, and the only woman to do so," Caridin says. "I am glad to see you well, also." 

"There, it sees?" Shale says, turning to me. "I was apparently indeed a woman. Not gay. Not that this really matters now." 

I smirk. "Sure it matters. Now we can refer to you as 'she'." 

"You have done nice work with the firestalkers," Tom says. "You haven't had as much success with artilas, I take it?" 

"They were overly fragile, and did not like the heat in Orzammar," Caridin says. "We made a few, but they all died after a couple days." 

"If you have time, Caridin, I would like to speak with you at length," Shale says. "Perhaps you could shed some light upon the darkness of my memories." 

"Gladly," Caridin says. "Dagna, would you watch the firestalkers?" 

"Of course," Dagna says, nodding to him. 

"I'll leave you to that, then, and we'll go and retire to our tent," I say, waving to Shale and heading off. 


	48. Werewolves

"What _is_ the archdemon doing?" Loghain wonders, peering over my map at a strategy meeting. It seems that he believes there's actually an archdemon now that plenty of people saw her flying near Highever. 

"We don't really know," I say. "She hasn't moved in days now." 

"We must not grow complacent, however," Duncan says. "The archdemon could start moving again at any time without warning, and we are not far away from the bulk of the horde." 

"How is the army holding out?" I ask. 

"As well as can be expected," Loghain says. "The Chantry doesn't trust the mages, the Dalish don't trust the humans, the knights don't trust those strange lizards the dwarves brought along, the templars think the _dwarves_ are somehow doing magic..." 

"It's a wonder people haven't started killing each other rather than the darkspawn," Rispy says lightly. He's technically at this meeting as a representative for Caridin, rather than in his capacity as a Grey Warden. 

"I think we are too focused on the darkspawn problem for the moment for that to happen," Knight-Commander Greagoir says. 

"One would hope," Scregor Aeducan says. "They've been hitting us hard, but it seems more like they're just testing us than anything else." 

"Are darkspawn that intelligent?" Loghain says. 

"I would rather overestimate them and be pleasantly surprised, than the other way around and be obliterated," I say. 

"They are indeed a foe to be wary of," Keeper Marethari says. "However, I have received word that one of the Dalish clans is having problems of their own and will be delayed, if they can make it at all." 

"What seems to be the problem?" I ask. "Maybe we can check it out and lend them a hand." 

"While I am certain that they can handle their own problems, I suppose it would be foolish to turn away aid where offered," Marethari says. "I am uncertain on the details myself, but I will give you their location if you wish to pay them a visit." 

Marethari marks the location on my map for me. Once the meeting is over, I go off to gather a party to take with me. 

"Do you really need to go yourself?" Tom asks. 

"I'm not going to stand around Ostagar just waiting for Urthemiel to make her move," I say. 

"Very well," Tom says, shrugging. "Go if you like. I'll be staying here for the moment to shore up the fort's defenses. Do take Kirlin with you, however. If you intend to perform that ritual, you will need to be ready to do it whenever the archdemon starts to move in your direction." 

I decide to take Lariole and Theryn along, too. I'd prefer to have more mages along, of course, but that's just my own bias, I think. Between the four of us, we have a nice balance of skills, and perhaps the Dalish will respond better to a group consisting mostly of elves. Not that they were precisely _hostile_ to us before, but they were certainly cool. 

"I'm sure the elves wouldn't really mind if you came along, Rispy," I say. "It seemed mostly humans that they were particularly unfriendly toward." 

"Nah, I've got stuff to do here, for both Caridin and the Grey Wardens," Rispy says. "Seems like they both think they have full reign over my time." He snorts softly. "Not that I mind or anything, really." 

So the four of us wind up heading off, myself and three elves, and one magic tent. I kind of miss Padfoot. I liked having a dog along. There were a bunch of dogs at Ostagar, most of them with the Ash Warriors, but it's not quite the same. Maybe I should try to pick up another dog sometime, although perhaps that should wait until I see whether or not I'm going to actually survive the Blight. 

"So, let me guess, you're taking us along in hopes that they're not going to shoot at elves on sight?" Lariole asks. 

"I'm sure they wouldn't, regardless," Theryn says. "Probably. Maybe." 

"Hopefully, whatever problem they have is something either I can heal or the rest of you can kill," Kirlin says. 

"Seems likely," Lariole says. 

When we arrive at the location Marethari gave us, one of the scouts at the edge of the camp says, "Halt, travelers." She pauses and looks us over critically for a moment, raising an eyebrow at me but otherwise letting my presence go without comment upon recognizing Theryn as a fellow Dalish. "Did you receive word of our troubles? Which clan sent you?" 

"I am Theryn Mahariel, of clan Sabrae. My companions are Lariole Tabris, Kirlin Surana, and Lexen Chelseer. We are Grey Wardens." 

"I see," the scout says. "I will take you to our keeper, if you would. Zathrian can explain our plight." 

She takes us before the keeper, a bald elven man with a tattooed face, and gives a brief introduction. 

"I am glad for your aid, if you are capable," Zathrian says. "We have already lost too many hunters as it is. Several of them are ill, and another group that was sent into the forest has not returned." 

"So does something need to be killed?" Lariole asks. 

"Does someone need to be healed?" Kirlin asks. 

"Both, perhaps," Zathrian says. "We were beset upon by werewolves, and now some of our hunters are infected." 

"Well, that's unpleasant," I say. "But at least they're only going to turn during the full moon, right?" 

"I'm afraid it doesn't work that way," Zathrian says. "Whatever fables you have heard have little basis in reality. The werewolf curse transforms its victims into a wolf-like form permanently, to mindlessly attack anyone that comes near." 

"Huh," I say, frowning. I glance aside to Kirlin. "Would a potion work, or a Ritual of Purification?" 

"I don't know," Kirlin says. "I would need to examine those who are ill." 

"The curse was spread by a terrible giant wolf named Witherfang," Zathrian says. "If you can kill him and bring me his heart, I will be able to use that to cure my hunters." 

"Well, that seems simple enough, then," I say. 

"You think you can so easily succeed where my best hunters have failed?" Zathrian says. 

"I'm a mage. Kirlin's a mage. Lariole's a crazy woman with a sword. And Theryn's a crack shot with that bow of hers. Besides, it's worth a shot, isn't it? At least if we go, you're not risking more of your own hunters." 

"This is true," Zathrian says. 

"But if you can heal your own hunters, why can't you heal the werewolves, too?" I ask. "Or is their curse too far advanced to be successful?" 

"They are beasts!" Zathrian says. "Why would I cure them even if I could?" 

"They are people who have been cursed to become beasts," I say. 

"No," Zathrian says. "There is nothing that could possibly be done about them but kill them." 

I shrug. "Alright then..." 

Kirlin goes over to examine the sick elves and help to stabilize their condition a bit, at least to relieve their suffering as much as she can. 

On our way through the camp, Lariole stops before an elven woman who seems to be lost in thought. "Copper for your thoughts?" 

"What? Oh. I was just thinking about Cammen." 

"Cammen?" Lariole says, raising an eyebrow. 

The girl -- Gheyna, says a quick Naming Charm, I really need to get into the habit of using that more, most likely -- glances over toward a young elven man standing over nearby. "Well, it's just that I really like him, to be sure. But he's been a hunter apprentice for two years and has yet to make a real kill." 

"So maybe he's just not cut out for it," Lariole says with a shrug. "What's the problem?" 

"I want to bond with him, but I can't bond with a mere apprentice, can I?" Gheyna says. "How would he be able to support us, or any children we might have?" 

Lariole snorts softly. "Why is the burden all on _him_? If he's not cut out for hunting, maybe he should take up, I don't know, knitting or something. Does it really matter? Are you intending to go out and live in the wilderness on your own, just you and him?" 

"Well, no, I suppose not..." Gheyna says. 

"And what can you do?" Lariole says. "I'm sure you're a capable woman yourself. Do you really need to rely on a man? Be glad that you can bond with whoever you choose! Revel in your choice, and let no one tell you otherwise!" 

"You're absolutely right!" Gheyna says. "They said you were a Grey Warden? You must be a strong and powerful woman. I should be more like you, and not rely on him so much." 

"Never underestimate yourself," Lariole says. "Nor let anything get in the way of your dreams." 

"I should go and tell him how I feel right away!" Gheyna says. "And suggest that he try knitting." 

"Are you ladies coming?" I say as I finally manage to gather together the group again at the far edge of camp. 

"One of the hunters wanted me to look for a woman who was bitten," Theryn says. 

"I was examining one of their animals who was in distress," Kirlin says. 

"And Hawthorne was matchmaking," I say with a smirk. 

"More women should take up swords and fight when their homes are threatened," Lariole says. 

Theryn chuckles. "Those Qunari back at Ostagar might disagree with you on that point. Didn't you _feel_ the looks they were giving us?" 

"Andraste's ass, yes," Lariole says. "One of them even told me that he doubted I was really a woman!" 

I snort softly. "If they question you again, tell them that you're fighting to defend your home. If you listen to the Qunari talk, you might get the impression that their women don't fight at all, but that's simply not true. When their homes are in danger, the Qunari expect _everyone_ to fight tooth and nail in their defense, women and children included. And then there's some members of the priesthood who specialize in 'solving problems', that is to say, assassination." 

"Assassin priests?" Lariole says. "Go figure." 

"You know a lot about the Qunari," Theryn says. 

"I _am_ Qunari," I say. "Just, uh, do me a favor and don't mention that I'm a mage." 

"They don't like mages?" Theryn wonders. 

"They'd have me up in chains before you could sneeze, provided they didn't kill me on the spot for fear of demonic possession," I say. 

"I can see why you'd want to keep your powers quiet, then," Lariole says. "Even the fear of templars isn't as bad as _that_." 

"I don't know," I say. "At least they don't make people Tranquil." 

"That's not much of a consolation," Lariole says. 

As we're walking through the forest in search of wherever this Witherfang might be, a group of werewolves runs up to us. I'm prepared to fight, but they stop and don't immediately attack us. 

"So, the Dalish have sent another kill team into the forest, have they?" says their apparent leader. 

I raise an eyebrow. "So, you're _not_ just mindless beasts attacking everything in on sight? It would appear that we've been misled. Whether that was done out of ignorance or an intentional deception, I cannot say." 

"I'm sure Keeper Zathrian wouldn't--" Theryn begins. 

"Zathrian!" the werewolf growls. "This is all Zathrian's fault in the first place!" 

"I find that... unlikely," Lariole says. "Let's just kill these animals and be done with this." 

"I'd really like to know what's going on here," Kirlin says. 

"Be peaceful, everyone," I say, holding up my hands. "Why don't we just discuss this like civilized beings?" 

"You are no different from the others!" the werewolf snarls. "We will destroy you before you can come further into our territory!" 

"You know, we really should see about developing a mass Stunning Spell," Kirlin says. 

I sigh. "Look, I'd really rather not fight you, but if you insist upon it, we will _not_ show you mercy." 

"Lexen!" Kirlin says. 

"You can stun them if you really want to," I say. "But I'm honestly getting a little sick of trying to be nice to _people who are trying to kill me_." 

"He has a point," Theryn says. 

"Kill the monsters!" Lariole says, raising her sword. 

"We do not need to throw our lives away needlessly," says the werewolf. "Come, my brothers. Let us return to the lair and warn the others!" They turn to flee. 

I smirk and lift my hand to my companions. "As they are not trying to kill us, let's just let them go." 

"Are you insane?" Lariole says. 

"Rispy calls me that frequently," I say dryly. 

"They're just going to tell their packmates that we're coming, and they'll dogpile on us when we get there!" Lariole says. 

"Then we can kill them when they do," I say. 

We make our way further into the forest, and encounter, among some rather angry trees, one that spouts poetry at us. 

"Ugh, I think I liked the overly aggressive ones better," Lariole says. "What do you say we make this one into firewood just for the bad poetry?" 

"That's a little extreme, don't you think?" Kirlin says. "He just wants his acorn back, and he's not even attacking us or anything." 

"I see no reason to offend the poor tree," Theryn says. "Let's just go find this acorn." 

"Bah, this is a waste of time," Lariole says, grumbling as we walk off. 

Further on, we encounter a strange hermit who appears to be living in a tree trump, who babbles incoherently and talks about wanting to play games involving questions and answers. 

I sigh, and say, "Alright, fine, let's play your stupid game." 

"No, no, that wasn't a question!" the hermit says. 

I grit my teeth, and say, "Do you want to play a game?" 

"That's more like it," the hermit says. "Let me think... Yes." 

"This is a _fucking_ waste of time," Lariole says. "If we must help the blighted tree, can we at least kill the annoying hermit?" 

"Be patient, Lariole," Kirlin says gently. "He has done us no harm." 

"What... is your name?" the hermit asks me. 

"Lexenmilot Skywalker Majere Renneck Chelseer Dragonblood," I reply. 

"Your name is too long," Lariole says. 

If only she knew that her alternate version is named Lariole Hawthorne Risselmilot Chelseer Dragonblood. Not to mention all the titles that she likes to string after it that nobody really pays attention to. 

"Why haven't the werewolves bothered you?" Theryn asks. 

"I do not know," the hermit says. "Perhaps it is because I am not an elf? They certainly seemed to hate the elves." 

"Did you steal the Grand Oak's acorn?" I ask. 

"No, no, it's my turn to ask a question now!" the hermit says. "What... is your favorite color?" 

"Blue," I say. "Now, did you steal the acorn?" 

"Is that why you're here? I knew it! Why, yes, I did take it. I might be willing to trade for it, if you have something interesting for me." 

"Alright, then, let's trade," I say. 

"That's not a question!" 

"Do you want to trade?" I ask, quickly growing frustrated with this game. 

"It's my turn to ask a question!" the hermit says. "What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?" 

"I'm killing the shem now, Lexen," Lariole says, pulling out her sword and stabbing at him. 

There's a puff of smoke, and when my vision clears, the hermit is standing several feet away. "No fair, no fair! A sword was not the answer!" 

"You're a mage," Lariole says. "Well now. I just learned some new abilities I've been eager to try out. Eat _Cleanse_!" Blue-white energy washes over the hermit. 

"No fair bringing templars out into the forest, either!" the hermit says. 

"I'm afraid I'm past the point of caring enough to dissuade Hawthorne from murdering you," I say. 

Lariole proceeds to stab the man more times than is strictly necessary. Theryn rummages around in the tree stump and pulls out an acorn. We head back and return it to the annoying tree, who gives us a magic branch that does... something supposedly useful. I really don't know. 

We head further into the forest and come upon an old ruin, and head inside. Correction. An old ruin that's full of undead and giant spiders. Wonderful. At least it gives me something to kill to take out my frustration upon. 

At the bottom level of the ruins, we come upon some werewolves who obviously want to die, so offended they must be at us charging into their home like this. I would be more impressed at their claim over the territory if the cleaned it up a bit and weren't just squatting in here like nesting animals, or hobos. 

I suppose I should give them some credit. It's not like they're weak or easy to kill or anything. In fact, they regenerate any wounds we give them rapidly, and Lariole winds up decapitating several of them just to make them stay dead. However, I'm not holding back with my magic on these. I would rather not have anyone get infected, and have plenty of lyrium potions, so I will call down the wrath of the heavens upon them. 

Finally, we come upon a group of werewolves that _doesn't_ suicidally throw themselves at us. "Hold, my brothers!" says their leader, lifting his hands to them and turning to me. "You have forced your way in this far. I do not wish to see any more of my brethren die beneath your blades and spells." 

"Then they shouldn't have attacked us in the first place," I say. 

"You would do the same if your home were threatened." 

"Yes," I say. "But I would not attack every random person who happened to show up and explicitly said that they did not wish to harm me. Which I made quite clear to the first werewolf we encountered out in the forest. But he refused to speak to me like a civilized being." 

"I see," the werewolf says. "Perhaps there is still some hope. Come and speak with the Lady of the Forest, and hear our side of the story. But if you mean her any harm, we _will_ \--" 

"--get killed like the rest of them on the way here?" I say. "Look, if I seriously meant you harm, there's not a damned thing you could do to stop me." 

"You are probably correct, but I must make the attempt nonetheless, and protect the Lady with my life if need be," the werewolf says. 

He brings us to the back of the ruins, where there is a green-skinned woman who is wearing nothing but conveniently placed leaves and hair. "I am the Lady of the Forest." 

"So I see," I say. 

"Lexen, you're staring," Kirlin says. 

"I am not," I reply, clearing my throat. "Anyway. I've already figured out that Zathrian wasn't being completely truthful with us. Why don't you tell it like it is, then?" 

"Zathrian was the one who created the curse in the first place," the Lady of the Forest says. "In retribution for humans murdering and raping his son and daughter, five hundred years ago." 

"Those bastard shemlen!" Lariole snarls. "They deserved what they got, then." 

"But do their descendants?" Theryn counters. 

I rub my head. "Maker, why couldn't this just be as simple as 'go in, kill a monster, grab some loot, go home'?" 

"We have to help these people," Kirlin says. 

"Only Zathrian can end the curse," the Lady says. "Will you help us? Will you bring him here and convince him to end this?" 

"I'll damned well try, but I make no guarantees about succeeding," I say. 

We turn to head out of the ruins through a convenient shortcut that we for some reason must not have noticed earlier. We don't even get to the entrance of the ruin, however, before running into Zathrian. 

"Well, fancy seeing you here," I say. "Did you realize it would be that obvious that you lied to us?" 

"Oh? Are you having second thoughts about putting down these rabid beasts?" 

"It was kind of obvious that they weren't just mindless monsters when they _spoke_ to us," I say. "There's a naked green woman downstairs who wants you to break the curse you started." 

"And why should I do that?" Zathrian says. "These animals deserve their punishment!" 

"You know, Zathrian," Lariole says. "I've been called a crazy, bloodthirsty elf with a sword, and even I think that you're being needlessly hateful here." 

"I have nothing left but hate," Zathrian says. "Would you not have done the same in my position? After what those monsters did to my children?" 

"No," Kirlin says. "I would not." 

"At least come and talk to her?" I say. 

"Are you aware that she _is_ Witherfang?" Zathrian says. 

"I don't see why it matters," I say. 

"Fine, then, have it your way," Zathrian says. "I will come and talk, but I do not see what it will accomplish. However, you must guarantee my safety. I think those monsters will just take the next opportunity to commit violence." 

I give a nod. "I can't argue with that. You will not come to harm while under my protection." 

We head back downstairs. The werewolves gathered around the room snarl furiously at Zathrian, but they do not attack. 

"Here he is!" says one of the werewolves. "Let us slay him now and take our revenge!" 

"Be at peace, Swiftrunner," the Lady of the Forest says. "Let us speak with him like civilized beings, rather than prove to him that we are merely bloodthirsty beasts." 

"I don't know how this human even convinced me to bother speaking with you, spirit," Zathrian says. "There is nothing you can say that will persuade me to end the curse. And you realize that if I _were_ to do so, it would end your life as well as my own?" 

"Is that really necessary?" I say. "How about you just agree to leave one another alone instead?" 

"What?" the Lady says. "And leave these poor creatures suffering for the crimes of generations long past?" 

"I can think of worse fates than to be tall, fuzzy, and powerful," I say. "And they're clearly not _mindless_. Is it really so bad?" 

"It is... difficult to fight against the rage of my nature at times," says one of the werewolves. 

"You can be glad you're _not a mage_ , and having to deal with demons wanting to possess you, templars locking you away in a tower and hunting you down if you get out, and that's putting it kindly," I say. 

"How can we have peace with these beasts?" Zathrian says. "They attacked my people!" 

"We attacked them in hopes that it would force your hand and make you end the curse!" growls a werewolf. 

"Enough," I say. "I do not blame Zathrian for this, and I cannot ask him to die to cure you." 

"Then we should exterminate them and bring back Witherfang's heart to cure my people!" Zathrian says. 

"I see no good reason to do _that_ , either," I say. 

"Then what _do_ you intend to do?" the Lady asks. 

"Can't we come to some sort of compromise that does not involve anyone else dying?" I ask. 

"No," Zathrian says. "I am going to put down these rabid dogs here and now. And you are going to help me." He raises his staff, and magic crackles around him. 

"Andraste's flaming sword," I mutter. 

"Please help us," the Lady says. "Don't let him do this." 

"Sorry," I say. "I gave him my word, and I'm not going to go back on it. Damn it, Zathrian, does it have to end like this?" 

"I will not allow these monsters to soil the memory of my beloved children," Zathrian says. 

"Enough talk," Lariole says. "Let's kill!" 

"Zathrian!" I bark, even as battle ensues. "Please reconsider! We need troops to fight the Blight! Let's get the werewolves to fight the darkspawn!" 

"That will not cure my people!" Zathrian says, calling forth the forces of nature against the werewolves. 

" _I_ will cure your people!" Kirlin says. "Just stop this! I swear I will find a way! You don't have to do this! Would your children have really wanted this?" 

Zathrian lowers his arms and lets his magic die around him, gone like a candle blown out by a breath, and he slumps over like a tired old man. "You are right. I... You are right." 

"If you can cure the elves, can you cure us, too?" asks one werewolf quietly. 

"I probably could," Kirlin says. "I mean, I can even cure the darkspawn taint. I would need to analyze the magic... but I'll start with the hunters who haven't transformed yet. It might be easier to work with those in which the curse has not run its course yet." 

"I do not care what you do," Zathrian says wearily. "Perhaps this has, indeed, gone on long enough. I have lived for so long with this hate..." 

"Then let go of the hate," I say. "But there's no need for you to die." 

"I could break the curse right now," Zathrian says. "It would be so easy to do it and be done with this all." 

"Maker's breath, Zathrian, you _don't have to die,_ " I say. "I fully intend to live forever, personally. I'm sick of hearing bullshit about people thinking that they have lived for too long, that they're too old, or anything else like that. There is always more to do, always new things to see, the world is beautiful and ever-changing and there is more out there than one person could hope to see in a hundred years, and by the time a hundred years has passed, there will be new and wonderful things to explore afresh! Give up your hate, not your life. Embrace the world!" 

"You shame me, stranger," Zathrian says, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "But I think, for the first time that I can remember, I see... hope?" 

"If the lives of you and this spirit are intertwined, then learn to live with one another, and bring one another joy, rather than sorrow," I say, giving a faint smile. "Life is too long to cling to hatred forever." 

"I could... help your people who were infected," the Lady of the Forest says. "I could make sure that they do not lose who they are." 

"Perhaps that would be enough," Zathrian says quietly. "I would not wish them to suffer needlessly for my own stubborn hatred. Come then... Lady. Let us both go back to the camp, and see what might be done." 


	49. Stop

As I'm heading back to Ostagar after securing agreement from both Zathrian and the werewolves to come and help fight the Blight, I find myself thinking about what happened back there. 

Five hundred years. Something terrible happened five hundred years ago. I can't go back that far to fix that. And I find that the more tragedies I see or hear about, the less important it seems to try to fix each of them. I can't make it so nothing bad ever happens to anyone in the multiverse. It's just not possible. Especially not when a bad thing to one person is a good thing to another. 

Maybe Tom is right. But I think, in a way, it breaks my heart just a little to think so. 

Still, when we arrive back at Ostagar, I have high hopes in at least being able to avert _this_ tragedy. 

Sten approaches me the day after my return to Ostagar. "You are a mage," he tells me in Qunlat. 

So it would seem that he found out anyway. I suppose I should not be surprised. It's not like I was being particularly discreet, regardless. No matter. I wasn't expecting to be going back to Par Vollen anyway. And here Sten just called me a dangerous thing. 

"Were you hoping I would not find out?" Sten says. "How long have you known? And how did you manage to hide it from the Qunari?" 

"I've always known," I say, sighing. "And how? By self-control that the Qunari would not think someone with magic could possibly be capable of." 

"You could be possessed," Sten says. "You could have been possessed the entire time." 

"I could," I admit. "But I'm not." 

"There is no way to be certain of that." 

"There is," I reply. "It's actually pretty easy. Attempt to kill me." I smirk. "The moment my life is threatened, any demon would immediately respond to defend itself." 

"And if it doesn't, that could still be some trick," Sten says. 

I shrug. "Perhaps. It's unlikely that a demon would risk losing its host just to maintain its cover, however, since that cover would become irrelevent should it die anyway." 

Sten grunts. "You could be saying this in the hopes that I might _not_ actually kill you." 

"Perhaps," I say. "I can give you no certainty that will satisfy you. Kill me, then, if that is what the Qun demands." 

"So be it," Sten says. 

Sten pulls out his sword, and raises it toward me. Time seems to slow to a crawl as the blade approaches me by inches. I could avoid it so easily. I don't think he's going to stop. He's actually going to kill me. 

_Stop him. Stop him. Don't let him kill you._

Am I really a dangerous thing? 

_Destroy all your enemies. Bring the world to ruins._

No. I deny you. 

I close my eyes and smile as the blade pierces my heart. 

* * *

"What happened?" Tom asks as I wake. 

"Sten killed me," I say. "He found out I'm a mage." 

"So we'll have to kill him, then," Tom says. 

"I _let_ him kill me," I say. 

"Why?" Tom asks. 

"To prove I wasn't an abomination," I say. 

"How does that prove anything if he doesn't remember you dying?" 

"It doesn't," I say with a smirk. I pull out a lyrium potion from my bag and drink it down. "I'm going to have to try another tactic." 

Tom snorts in amusement. "Have fun with that." 

I head out to intercept Sten this time rather than waiting for him to come to me. However, the conversation winds up going pretty much the same, and he kills me again. 

* * *

"I take it that didn't work, either?" Tom says. 

I drink another potion. "I'm not going to fight him, Tom." 

"This is foolish," Tom says, rolling his eyes. "But suit yourself." 

I head out, and proceed to get myself killed again. 

* * *

"Why are you even doing this?" Tom asks as I drink another potion. Well, the same potion again, most likely. "What do you think you're trying to prove?" 

"Maybe I'm trying to prove it more to myself than to him," I say with a smirk. 

"What's going on?" Kirlin wonders, intercepting me on the way out. 

"I'm letting Sten kill me," I say, strolling out toward the Qunari camp. 

"Why?" Kirlin wonders. 

"To prove I'm not a demon," I say. "To prove that I can control myself." 

"That doesn't even make sense!" Kirlin says. When we arrive at Sten's tent, Kirlin says, "You've just killed him for being a mage, three times now!" 

Sten gives her the most puzzled look I think I have ever seen on a Qunari. 

I rub my head. "Alright, I suppose I'd better explain. I'm immortal. I _can't_ die. You kill me, I wake up again this morning in my tent as if it never happened." 

"That is impossible," Sten says. 

I snort softly. "To quote the Bard... There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy." 

"What has the Qun failed to consider?" Sten wonders. 

"Other worlds," I say. "There are countless other worlds. And in most of them, demons are much rarer. I had almost never heard of a case where a mage actually became possessed by a demon, until I came here." 

"Mages are always in danger of being possessed," Sten says. 

"Demons don't even _exist_ in every world," I say. 

"They exist in this world," Sten says. "And _saarebas_ are inherently incapable of controlling themselves." 

"I deny that," I say quietly. 

"Then you deny the Qun," Sten says. 

I sigh. "So be it, then. Will you kill me for that, also?" 

"Yes," Sten says, raising his sword. 

"Lexen!" Kirlin says. 

"I'm not going to fight you, Sten," I say. "Do it." 

Each time I die, it seems like it takes longer and longer for the blade to reach me. The instants ticking away between heartbeats are becoming agonizing. 

* * *

"You really are an idiot sometimes," Tom says as I wake and drink a lyrium potion. 

"A stubborn idiot, no less," I say. 

When I come to the main room of the tent, Gellert is there. "I don't see any darkspawn outside. What's going on?" 

"I'm letting Sten kill me," I say. 

Gellert looks at me oddly, and shrugs. "Okay then." 

Rispy is the one to intercept me along the way this time, and I repeat what I've told the others. 

"Have I mentioned lately that you're insane?" Rispy says. 

"How did I know you were going to say that?" I say dryly. 

The two of us step into Sten's tent, and the Qunari looks up at us sharply when we enter. 

"You're going to kill me for being a mage because I might be possessed, right?" I say with a smirk. 

"You have kept it a secret long enough," Sten says. "Did you think I would not find out?" 

"If you wanted to kill him for it, why not kill all the other mages here, too?" Rispy wonders. 

"He is Qunari," Sten says. "And presumably, the templars hold the reigns on the other mages. One hopes, at least." 

"And the Qun cannot conceive of the possibility of a mage being able to control themselves," I say. 

"Indeed," Sten says. "Will you deny the Qun as well?" 

"No, I will not," I say. "Kill me, then." 

"Very well," Sten says, raising his sword. 

Each time he does this, it gets harder and all the more tempting to do something to stop him. 

But is it really so wrong to want to live? 

It's not like I'm going to actually die here. He can't really kill me. He can't make me stay dead. He can't destroy my soul, or cut off my magic. 

Why am I even doing this? What do I hope to prove? 

And yet I know why. I know exactly why. 

I am stronger than this. 

The blade slowly slides into my rapidly beating heart. 

* * *

"Enough," Tom says as I drink down a potion again. "This is getting nowhere. What are you accomplishing with this?" 

I grin wildly, and say, "No, I'm getting somewhere. I'm really getting somewhere. I think I'm almost there, too." 

Tom follows after me to Sten's tent this time. And again I encourage Sten to kill me. 

"What in the Void do you think you're doing, Lexen?" Tom says. 

"Just watch," I say. "Just watch me, damn it." I giggle. 

Sten's blade moves ever so slowly, and then stops. Stops frozen in midair, inches from my body. 

"What..." Tom says. "What did you do?" 

"I can stop time," I say. "I found out about it with Mouse, but I was never able to control it before." 

"Can you control it now?" Tom asks. 

"I don't know," I say. "It seems to react whenever it perceives that I am in danger. I just need to find the trick to it. And it appears that it thinks you're part of me." 

"Interesting," Tom says thoughtfully. "Perhaps that would explain the strange incident where you were frozen for three days." 

"I'm really not sure exactly what happened there," I say. 

"Still, this power could prove _very_ useful--" 

"Lexen!" Kirlin shrieks, coming into the room, map fluttering in her hand. "Urthemiel is moving!" 

"What?" I say. "Shit." 

Tom scowls. "Alright, can you turn it _off_ now? It would be best to experiment with this _after_ the Blight is taken care of." 

"I don't know," I say. "Um... Well, I suppose I could throw myself on Sten's sword again..." 

"We can't perform the ritual _now_ ," Kirlin says. "It needs to be done at the hour of midnight. The archdemon won't get here for, I don't know, at least a day or two, probably, but if time won't move..." 

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I say. 

I don't trust my Time Magic right now, so I'd rather not just age myself down. I grab onto Sten's sword and plunge it into me. 

* * *

I wake and pour a potion down my throat reflexively to keep my energy up. No sense in passing out now. I quickly head out with Tom to check the map, currently laying on the table in the main room of the tent. 

"Archdemon's still moving," Tom says. "Or moving again, as the case may be." 

"We've got to warn Duncan and the rest of the army," I say, grabbing the map and heading out of the tent. 

I walk outside the tent, and stop dead in my tracks. The soldiers around the camp are frozen in mid-step. Crows hover in the air, unmoving in mid-flight. Trees stand completely still, slightly bent in a breeze that I cannot feel. 

"Fuck," I utter. 

Gellert appears, and says, "What in the Void is going on here?" 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I say. 

"What the fuck?" Rispy says. 

"I don't know how to turn it off!" I say. 

My heart pounds in my chest. How did it ever come to the point that my own power has become a liability? 

"This... is not good," Kirlin says. 

My mind whirls. I try to think, try to figure out how to control this. But I don't even know how I did it in the first place, never mind how to stop it. 

"I could hit you with a Killing Curse," Tom says. "Force a full reset. And if that doesn't work, at least we'd have plenty of time to find a solution." 

"Or just get him into magical exhaustion and hope that it shuts off when it has no mana left to power it," Kirlin suggests. 

Tom shakes his head. "That might not work, and then where would we be? He might still be out when the archdemon arrives then." 

"We could still cast a Killing Curse on him if he's unconscious," Gellert says. 

I'm hardly even paying attention to what they're saying. I slump to the ground, pulling my knees against my chest, trembling and staring at the frozen tableau before me. 

I never realized that my own power could be so terrifying before. 

"Lexen," Kirlin says gently, putting her hand on my shoulder. "Please try to relax. There's no need to panic. We'll figure this out. It's alright." 

"I feel like I've made some horrible mistake somewhere," I say. "But I don't know what it was or when I made it." 

"Well, whatever it was, you have all eternity to fix it," Tom says. 

"Right now, though, we need to figure out this one," Gellert says. "I've never seen a power quite like yours before." 

I rub my head and rise slowly, and look out to the south. There's movement there, where there should not be movement. Dark clouds roil on the horizon as the Blight encroaches. 

The darkspawn are still moving. 

"Fuck," I whisper. 

I need to break this connection. 

"Do it!" I say. "Kill me now!" 

Gellert gives a nod, and raises his wand, and says, " _Avada Kedavra!_ " Green light hangs suspended in the air in front of his wand, unmoving. "Well, that's different." 

"Fuck's sake," I mutter. I rush over and throw myself into the deadly green light. 

* * *

I wake in the dormitory in Torn Elkandu. My hands are shaking. My entire body is shaking. 

Slowly, I calm myself down enough to get out of bed and walk down the corridor, to pass through the cafeteria. 

No one is moving here, either. 

Fuck. 

I try to force a laugh, thinking that I'm going to find this incredibly funny later. This power will be amazing once I learn how to control it. How funny it will be to think that this panicked me at first. To think that I'm so afraid of what I might be capable of. 

It doesn't really help much. 

I wander out to the Nexus, stumbling along in a bit of a haze. I don't know what to do or where to go. I should go and collect the others back from the other timeline. But what the darkspawn were doing terrifies me. There's no reason why that should have been happening. 

I lean against one of the obelisks that make up the Nexus and slump down against it, sighing and staring up at the eerily frozen purple sky. 

The Nexus activates. The runes flare to life, glowing bright blue, and mist fills the circle between the obelisks. When it clears, a man is standing there. Black cloak, pale albino skin, eyes that could pierce the soul. Sardill. 

I find that I don't even care enough at the moment to move. It barely even occurs to me to wonder why he wasn't affected by my magic. 

"What in the Abyss have you done this time, Stormseeker?" Sardill says. 

"I stopped time, apparently," I say. 

"No, you did not," Sardill says. "You just sped it up for yourself to the point where it appears that is what happened." 

"If you knew what I did, why did you ask me?" I retort. 

"I was wondering if _you_ knew what you'd done," Sardill replies. "Do you always curl up in a little helpless ball and feel sorry for yourself whenever you meet a situation you are uncertain how to handle?" 

I glare at him. "Of course not." 

"Get out of here, Stormseeker," Sardill says. "Solve your own problems. It is not my job to solve them for you." 

"What, not going to kill me?" I ask. 

"No," Sardill says. "It would appear that that impetus is no longer sufficient. Perhaps I should take away your crutches this time, instead. You rely far too much upon them. It would have solved all of your problems here if you were unable to permanently form any bonds with anyone else, wouldn't it?" 

"You wouldn't..." I hiss. 

"Would I not?" Sardill says. "Do not test me, Stormseeker. My purpose _must_ be fulfilled. It does not matter what must be done to accomplish this." 

"Perhaps I would appreciate that more if you would tell me what your purpose is!" I snap. 

"I do not believe you are ready for it," Sardill says. "You are still a child playing at godhood." 

"I've seen over a hundred years!" 

"And what is that next to those who have experienced millennia?" Sardill says. "There are beings in the multiverse who have seen millions of years, in fact." 

"Please just tell me," I say. 

"Not yet, Stormseeker," Sardill says. 

"Fuck you, then. You're just using me, although I can't even guess why." 

Sardill snorts softly. "I'm using you because you are the only tool capable of accomplishing what must be done. As flawed as you are. I will make whatever adjustments I must, if you are not up to the task. I believe you to be a stronger individual than this. One who would not give up and would do what he set out to do by any means necessary. Perhaps I overestimated you." 

I grind my teeth and rise to my feet. "I _will_ succeed." 

"And how do you plan to do that?" Sardill says. "You can't even control your power." 

"Are you just going to stand there and mock me?" I say. 

"No," Sardill says. "I'm going to tell you to get into this Nexus and try again, Stormseeker. Also, I think you've relied on the Nexus far too much. How about I make you not come back here, instead?" 

"You are horrible," I say. "Are you just doing this all for your own entertainment?" 

"Believe me, I find what you do to be more _pathetic_ than entertaining," Sardill says. "Honestly now. Some of the things that have killed you in no way should have been able to do so." He shakes his head. "But no. I will not be changing the rules on you just yet. I will see where this goes, for the moment. Go now. Save Thedas, if that's what you mean to do." 

"At least let me turn this damned power off first," I say. 

"Fine," Sardill says with a shrug. "I've got all the time in the multiverse." 

I take a deep breath, and focus upon my Time Magic, turning to look at Keolah, who is standing still as a statue staring off into space. I think I'm starting to much more readily trust skills that I learn myself, rather than instinctive magic like this. Learned skills, at least I know how they work, and they don't tend to do something bizarre when I'm not sure what I'm doing with them. 

Suddenly, everything speeds up into a blur, and the sky overhead swirls like a turbulent storm. 

"Congrulations, Stormseeker," Sardill says dryly. "You just slowed yourself down rather than sped yourself up." 

"Oops," I mutter, trying to get a hold on it and reign it in. 

Once the spinning slows back down to normal, I blink and see that the Nexus is currently being tended by what appears to be some sort of female demon. 

"Would you look at that?" he says. "The Time Mage finally woke up!" 

"What?" I say, staring at him. "Who are you?" 

"Name's Suzcecoz Ilawi. You've been frozen there for longer than I've even been alive. And considering I'm five hundred years old, that's impressive." 

"Fuck's sake," I mutter, rubbing my head. "And when did Torn Elkandu get taken over by demons?" 

"Oh, sorry," Suzcecoz says. She closes her eyes for a moment, and shifts into the form of a redheaded human woman. However, the strange golden eyes when she opens them again indicate that she's still clearly anything but human. 

"I'm not fooled, demon," I say. 

"Fine, you can be like that if you really want to," Suzcecoz says, rolling her eyes. "Like I don't get enough prejudice as it is." 

"Er... sorry," I say. "I'm just used to demons being, you know, evil soul-stealing monsters." 

"Evil is subjective," Suzcecoz says. "And Soul Magic is hardly inherently evil, either. I might have done plenty of things with Soul Bonds, soulstones, and soultraps, but generally on people who were either willing, or clear enemies to Tempest." 

"Who is Tempest?" I ask. 

"Right, you _have_ been out of it for a while," Suzy says. "Tempest are the successors to the Drakandu." 

"So you _are_ evil," I say, narrowing my eyes at her. 

"I'll echo your 'fuck's sake'," Suzy says. "You know I can see and feel your aura? It's almost as dark as mine, and I can perfectly well see the connections to the souls attached to you." 

I sigh. "You know what? I think I'll just go." 

"Where are you heading?" Suzy says, turning to the Nexus. 

I shake my head. "I can get there myself." 

I step into the Nexus and concentrate on the time and place. I could go anywhere, anytime, in the multiverse, in all of eternity, in all the myriad paths that sprawl across the tapestry of possibility. But there is business I have to take care of on Thedas. 

When the mists clear, I'm standing precisely where I was when I stepped into Gellert's Killing Curse. 

There are shouts of panic around the camp as, to the perception of the soldiers here, the darkspawn just appeared out of nowhere. 

"Well, at least you got the Time Stop spell down," Gellert says. 

"I am _not_ going to be trying that again anytime soon," I say. 

"How will you ever get better at controlling something if you don't practice?" Tom says. 

"I accidentally wound up five hundred years in the future before I got back here," I say with a smirk. 

Tom blinks. "I see." 

We go to fight the encroaching wave of darkspawn. I'm just refreshed to see things moving normally again. Certainly I will need to master that power, but as useful as it might be, I'm in no rush, so to speak. This is not the time nor place for it. 

And frankly, as much as I might try to laugh about it, it still terrifies me. 

Once the battle is over and the tide of darkspawn stemmed for the moment, Sten approaches me. "You are a mage," he says. "I heard the rumor, but seeing you use magic in battle there confirms it." 

"I am a mage," I reply. "What of it?" 

"As _saarebas_ , you should have been collared and chained," Sten says. 

"Enough of this," Tom says. "This man is your doom or your salvation. Which do you want it to be?" 

"Tom..." I say. 

"No," Tom says. "I am not going to put up with this any longer. If he raises a hand against you, I _will_ kill him." 

Sten grunts. "I wish this land had proper, civilized attitudes toward mages. However, this man is Ashkaari. He is Qunari. Unless he wishes to deny that, he still falls under the jurisdiction of the Qun." 

"I don't give a genlock's arse what the Qun demands," Tom says. "You have _no_ idea what he has been through. And all because he has some deluded notion about _saving you_." 

"Mages are dangerous," Sten says. 

"Yes," Tom says. "We are. Mages are more dangerous than Mug-- mundanes, just as a man with a bow is more dangerous than a man who is unarmed." 

"A bow will not cause a man to turn into a monster and attack his friends," Sten says. 

"And yet he can still choose to betray them nonetheless, entirely of his own free will," Tom says. "You don't know what it's really like for mages. Or realize the fact that the vast majority of abominations became so of their own choice, whether for failing to realize the consequences or out of desperation." 

"It isn't even actually that difficult not to become possessed," Kirlin says. "I don't think most mages are honestly ever really in danger of it." 

"And... it's a blatant insult to every mage, every _saarebas_ ," I say, "to tell them that they're _broken_ , and that there is no possible way that they could ever have the same self-control that anyone else has. All people must make a choice, to do good or do ill, to lead or to follow, to build or to destroy." 

"You believe that you know better than the Qun?" Sten says. 

"The Qun was not made by a mage," I say. "It was written by a very wise man who understood many things, but he was a man nonetheless." 

"You question the Qun?" Sten says. 

I chuckle. "I'm still seeking, Sten. I'm always seeking. I'm not always sure precisely what it is that I'm seeking, but I must seek nonetheless." 

Sten grunts. "You believe that there is a role for you in the Qun beyond that of Saarebas?" 

"I believe that there is more to me beyond the happenstance of being born capable of using magic," I say. "And that magic is not a handicap. There are many mages who are not simply warriors, and magic is not limited to simply destruction." 

"And yet, are you capable of _not_ using magic?" Sten says. 

"I did spend twelve years among the Qunari," I say. "And no one even suspected for a moment that I might have magic, since I did not go around blatantly using it all the time. Not to say that I never used it, but there is far more to magic than fire and lightning. I am not defined by magic, any more than you are defined by your foot. It is simply a part of you. It does not use you or control you." 

Sten turns away. "It is not my role to judge you, Ashkaari. I will dismiss the rumors I have heard, and assume that the magic I saw being used earlier was from your companions. Do not give me a reason to change my mind." 

"Thank you, Sten," I say. 

"Do not thank me," Sten replies. "We both have a duty yet to perform." 


	50. Urthemiel

The army took losses from the sudden attack, but they're still holding for the moment. Several more waves of darkspawn arrive throughout the day as the horde marches on. Speculation is rampant as to how they were able to get so close without anyone noticing them, but I keep my mouth shut on the matter. 

I call an emergency meeting of the various faction leaders to let them know what's going on. 

"The archdemon is finally moving, and the horde has started pounding at our fortress seriously," Loghain says. 

"How's the army holding up?" I ask. 

"We're starting to take heavy losses from this assault," Loghain says. 

"Caridin's makeshift Shaping hall is churning out creations as fast as he can make them," Rispy says. "The firestalkers are dying just as quickly as they're being replaced." 

"The noble sacrifice of these poor creatures should be honored," Keeper Marethari says. 

"At least the creatures are taking losses that would otherwise be people dying, and taking out some darkspawn in the process," Scregor says. 

I can see quite clearly how the attitudes of the Shapers of Terrestia got started. When there's a war going on and you're fighting for survival, you don't care to wonder about the rights of creatures you don't think are sentient anyway. And if that means throwing countless newly made creations at the enemy, then so be it. You can always make more, right? 

"If Caridin were willing to share some information about them," First Enchanter Irving says, "then the Circle of Magi may be able to help with--" 

"No," Rispy says firmly. "Absolutely not." 

"Do you not trust mages?" Irving says. 

"Wise if he does not," Sten says quietly. 

"That has nothing to do with it," Rispy says. "Caridin's not going to allow knowledge of lifecrafting to spread out of control." 

"Surely he can't expect to keep a tight reign on it forever," Irving says. 

"The knowledge might be lost again, like the secret to making golems was," Scregor says. "But I'll trust Caridin to know what he's doing." 

"Better that the knowledge be lost than for it to fall into the wrong hands," Rispy says. 

"You can discuss possibilities with Caridin later," I say. "Maybe he'd be willing to take some mages as apprentices. But that's a matter for another time. Right now, all we need to do is hold the line, and wait for the archdemon to come." 

"Our defenses are strong," Loghain says. "We can hold." 

"What do we do when the archdemon gets here?" asks Knight-Commander Greagoir. 

"Kill her," I say. "The Grey Wardens will finish her off." 

After the meeting, Duncan pulls me aside privately. "Have you found a way to get around the problem we encountered before?" 

I give a nod. "Hopefully. Kirlin and I will be performing the ritual tonight." 

"And if this doesn't work," Rispy says. "I will kill the archdemon myself." 

"It isn't necessary for you to sacrifice yourself," Duncan says. "There are many other older Wardens present..." 

Rispy shakes his head. "That's not what it's about. The fact that I'm also bound to Lexen may make a difference." 

Duncan nods. "I see. What is important is ending the threat of the darkspawn by any means necessary. And that does mean _any_ means. You have my full authorization to use anything at your disposal to get the job done, even if it may seem questionable." 

"Understood," I say. 

I gather up all of my bondmates and prepare for the ritual as the hour of midnight approaches. Not that there's much real preparation to be made. No circles of runes or lit candles, no silver bowls of water or burning incense. 

I'm terrified. Terrified of something going horribly wrong. Of the thought of losing those I care about. Of losing not only Cassie, but Tom and Rispy also. It's paranoia, I know. Completely unfounded paranoia. But I am not reassured. 

And I can't get Urthemiel's face out of my mind. She's watching me, bearing down upon me. She's coming. And there will be hell to pay. 

"Relax, Lexen," Kirlin says to me gently. "It'll be alright." 

"I just can't shake the feeling that something is going to go horribly wrong," I say. "Something _always_ goes horribly wrong." 

"I think we've fulfilled our quota of things going horribly wrong by this point," Gellert says with a smirk. 

"I should certainly hope so," Rispy says. 

"Midnight's almost upon us," Kirlin says. "Let's do this." 

* * *

The sky rumbles, and the darkspawn move in. It's dawn, and the sun should be rising, but there is no dawn at Ostagar this morning. At the head of the storm flies the archdemon Urthemiel, deep violet wings stretched out against the blackened sky. 

Mage spells and Dalish arrows fly at the tainted dragon, but I know there's a better way to bring her to the ground. 

I focus my magic and shapeshift, changing into my true form. I spread my wings and take to the air with a push of my strong haunches. At least I'm more comfortable with this body than I was the last time I met her like this, but that still doesn't change the fact that she's larger, stronger and more powerful than me. 

Urthemiel's jaws snap at me and catch me around the neck, crushing my throat and snapping my spine. 

* * *

I wake and head out for the battle again, unfazed by my failure back there. I think I've gotten entirely too used to dying repeatedly. I shift form and fly up toward the archdemon again. 

Urthemiel fixes her attention upon me. She crashes into my mind as though my Occlumency barriers simply aren't there. 

I fall out of the air, crashing through a group of genlocks. In my distraction, I'm not fighting back very effectively. Their blades slice at me, and one of them plunges into my eye. 

* * *

I wake and return to the battle just as before, and shift form. I look up into the sky, at the black dragon silhouetted against a shadowed sky. Still feeling her clearly in my mind... 

Urthemiel is beautiful. What am I fighting for? Why am I doing this? 

My blood burns for her. My soul sings for her. 

I can't do this. I can't fight her. Why should I fight her? 

I fight... I fight for salvation. For life. For hope. 

Tom's words trickle back to me as though from a million miles away, jumbled together with little semantic sense, but the meaning is clear. Not only can I not save everyone, but why should I destroy myself trying to? Why should I agonize over changing everything that I can? 

No. No, damn it. I can't think like this. I can't live like this. 

I take to the air again, struggling, staggering, flying unsteadily. An arrow strikes me in the wing, and I hiss and swerve in pain. 

"No, the smaller dragon is on our side!" says one of the human archers below. 

"Are you sure?" asks a Dalish elf standing near him. 

"I think so, at least!" 

"You better be right about that, shem." 

I shake my head and try to clear my mind. I'm not fighting Urthemiel. I'm saving her. She's been driven mad by the taint. I'm trying to help her. 

I dart into the air and swoop down upon the archdemon from above, coming down upon her back. She shakes for a moment, but she's so much bigger than me that she could probably just carry me. I need to bring her down, however. We struggle in the air, and I claw at her wings in hopes of dropping her from the air. I manage to get in a good strike, but she snaps around with her jaws and almost rips off my right wing completely. 

I shriek in pain, and cling to the back of the dragon as we both plummet from the sky. We hit the ground hard, and I go tumbling away, nearly bowling over a line of Dalish archers. 

Bleeding and in pain, I lay still on the ground. I don't dare change back like this. I don't know what might be missing, if I even survived the shock of the shapeshifting. And I don't want to die now. Not when I've actually succeeded in bringing the archdemon to the ground. 

"Lexen!" cries Kirlin, footsteps running toward me. 

"That's Lexen?" says another voice. 

"Come on! Help me heal him!" 

Soothing energy of healing magic slowly begins to wash over me, stemming the blood running out of my wing-stump. 

"There, I think we can stop the bleeding at least," Kirlin says. "Here, drink these down." 

She prods at my mouth, and I open up to let her pour healing and lyrium potions down my throat. I swallow them down, and then lift my head to look over toward where Urthemiel fell. The Grey Wardens are doing their duty now, fighting with all they've got, although it looks like there have been some casualties. Even on the ground, a dragon is a force to be reckoned with. 

"I know you want to go over and help them," Kirlin says. "But you've done enough. They can handle it from here. You just stay put and try not to move too much. I don't know if we can save that wing... or what that might mean when you change back." 

I see Lariole fighting, and Theryn, and Rispy, and Duncan. Each of them gets thrown aside, the dragon's tail whipping around and knocking them off their feet, claws raking at them, jaws snapping, torn wings flailing. 

The two elves lay on the ground, bloody and motionless. Duncan stirs weakly, trying to climb to his feet. Rispy, however, stands up firmly, seeming unharmed. His dragonscale armor must have protected him from being too badly injured. 

Rispy grabs his sword and charges at the archdemon, plunging it into the dragon's throat. Blood gushes out, and I can hear Urthemiel's shrieks in my mind even as she writhes in pain. 

The dwarf pulls out the sword, and lifts it again, as if bearing the weight of the world upon his stout shoulders. He climbs on top of the archdemon's head, and thrusts the sword into the skull. 

A pillar of light splits the air, piercing the black clouds overhead. 

A wave of peace and calm washes through my mind, and then there is silence. 

The darkspawn break in confusion, and as the army starts hacking them apart with renewed vigor, many of the creatures start to turn and flee. 

A cheer rises up among the army even as they are quick to finish off any stragglers. It's over. It's really over. 

* * *

"I'm afraid the wing's going to have to come off," Tom says. 

"I wasn't sure if it would be possible to heal it or not," I hiss in Parseltongue. Dragons don't normally speak Parseltongue, but their mouth structure is actually capable of forming it at least. I can't manage comprehensible English in this form. 

"We might have been able to, but the damage is too extensive," Tom says. "It's only hanging on by a flap of skin at the moment as it is. Furthermore, it's badly tainted. What's more? None of us know how to heal a dragon. We're just throwing basic anatomy and raw light magic at you here." 

"It's alright," I hiss. "It's over. We won. The ritual worked. That's all that matters." 

"Yes," Tom says. "And we're going to clean up what's left of the taint as best as we can. However, this is very important. You should _never_ return to this period of time. Because if you do, you could very well get tainted again and wind up soulbound to an insane, corrupted dragon." 

"She's still bound to me," I reply. 

"Yes, and she's a pure and untainted being now," Tom says. "Coming back to the intervening time span could very well taint her again to." 

I give a slight nod of my reptilian head. "After everything that's happened, I don't know that I would want to go back to that span of time anyway." 

As they work on my injuries as best as they can, and see about removing that wing, grateful people come through our makeshift infirmary that was set up where I landed. Some of them just bow to me and murmur words of thanks. Others leave gifts of food or treasure. I'm hungry enough to gobble up the food right away, and I certainly don't have the heart to turn away the loot. 

Sten comes in, and says, "I have heard rumors in the camp. Is this a man who is pretending to be a dragon? Or a dragon pretending to be a man?" 

I hiss, "The latter, technically." 

Tom translates for me, "Lexen is a dragon that can take on human form." 

"Lexen..." Sten says. "That is the name you bas call Ashkaari, is it not? But he is not Saarebas, but Ataashi...?" 

"I'm afraid I don't speak your tongue," Tom says. 

"I believed him a mere mage," Sten says. "But he is a dragon. Surprising." 

Tom nods to him, and then looks over toward me. "We've done what we can. You want to try changing form now?" 

He can't easily stun me when I'm in this form, so hopefully this won't kill me. I close my eyes and focus on shifting my form. It's painful, and takes quite a bit of effort, but after a couple minutes of concentration, I'm in a small and frail human body once again. 

I open my eyes and examine my body. My right arm is missing from below the elbow. It's not bleeding or anything anymore, but it still feels very strange. 

"Would you do it over again?" Tom says. "If it meant you could try it again to do it without injury?" 

"No," I reply. "Not to risk anyone else dying, or worse, failure." 

I know what he's really asking, and couching it in terms of hypotheticals for the benefit of those who are present who aren't in the know. I don't really know what I feel about taking an injury that will stay with me for the remainder of my time in this world, however long that might be. But I can't help but feel that my hand was a small price to pay to stop the Blight. 

"Ataashi Ashkaari," Sten says to me in Qunlat, "The Beresaad will be leaving Ferelden, now that the Blight has ended. I believe we will have a satisfactory answer for the Arishok now. Will you be coming with us?" 

I had intended to go with Tom to Kirkwall. But I still find myself thinking on it and actually considering it for a few moments before shaking my head. "There are other things that I must do before I can even think about going back. And I am still seeking." 

"I see," Sten says. 

I turn and look off at the blighted lands stretching to the south of Ostagar. The black clouds are breaking apart, and shafts of sunlight shine down upon the blemished wilds. Somewhere in the distance, a single bird lets out a lonely song. 

"Still," I say. "I think we have done well here. For all that has been lost this day, this has been a great victory. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless." 

"Victory is in the Qun," Sten says quietly. 

We part ways, and I head back toward my tent. Along the way, people nod to me, and smile at me. It seems like everyone recognizes me today. There are many dead, but right now, people are tending to the wounded. 

Rispy and Duncan are inside the tent, and Rispy beams from ear to ear at me when I enter, although it fades when his eyes fall upon my missing hand. "Good to see you're alright, for the most part." 

"It's fine," I say, shrugging. "It's a good thing I'm left-handed?" I chuckle. "I'm glad to see you're both alright, too. I hate to ask, but what's the death toll like? Did Theryn and Lariole make it?" 

"They're wounded, but they should recover in time," Duncan says. "We lost several others in the fight, however. As for me, I'm surprised to have survived the Blight, but I will be returning with the dwarves to Orzammar." 

"You're going to your Calling?" I say, raising an eyebrow. "There's no need for that. I'm sure we can find--" 

Duncan raises a hand to stop me. "It's alright, Lexen. You have done enough. More than enough. I have no regrets." 

"Oh, come on," I say. "You're not even half as old as Caridin and Zathrian, and I managed to convince both of _them_ not to needlessly go commit suicide. The whole world is before you. You can't tell me that you have nothing left to live for, that there's nothing more that you could possibly want to do." 

Duncan sighs. "I suppose you're right. But what would you suggest?" 

I give a broad, wild grin, and say, "We take a trip to the Urn of Sacred Ashes on Summerday." 

"Yes," Tom nods in agreement. "We can get Rispy then as well, and make sure that there's no residual taint in you, just in case. We can bring the full circle of seven, just to make sure." 

"This is strange magic that you have discovered," Duncan says. "But I suppose, with the Blight over, I can hold off until then." 

Gellert comes into the tent, and he can't seem to stop snickering. "And so you said to her, 'No, I am your father!' and then she like, cut off your hand, and you were all, 'No, no, you've got it backwards, you bitch!'" 

"That's totally not how it happened," I say with a smirk. 

* * *

Back in Denerim, King Cailan holds a celebration for us. He's still sniffling a bit, but his mysterious illness has just as mysteriously gone away now that the Blight is over. He puts medals over the necks of each of the Grey Wardens who survived the battle. We don't bother telling him that Tom, Kirlin, and Gellert aren't technically Grey Wardens. 

"All we need now is a Wookiee," Gellert says. 

"We totally don't need a Wookiee," I say. 

"Whatever," Gellert says. He waves a hand, and suddenly music starts playing. A triumphant fanfare of trumpets sounding out of nowhere. 

"That's not the Star Wars theme, is it?" I say. 

"Oh, come on," Gellert says. "You're Anakin Skywalker's son, and you don't even recognize the main theme?" 

"You are all insane," Rispy says. 

"Anyway, I'll be heading back to Redcliffe after the party," Gellert says. 

"Going to keep your teaching job?" I say. 

"Yeah," Gellert says. "I've grown somewhat fond of the kid. He's got a lot of potential, and I'd hate to see it wasted by stuffing him away for life." 

"And I'm going back to Orzammar for a bit," Rispy says. "Rica showed up at the party, did you see?" 

He gestures over toward a redheaded dwarven woman, standing beside a man who seems vaguely familiar. 

"Who's that she's with?" I ask. 

"Gorim," Rispy says. "Apparently they're getting married. And there's talk of making me a Paragon." He snorts softly. "All I had to do was kill an archdemon to do it." 

"Just remember," Tom says. "Summerday in Haven." 

"Won't miss it," Rispy says. 

"So, what do you think we should call her?" Kirlin says, rubbing her belly absently, although it's far too early for her to be showing yet. 

"What do you mean?" I ask. 

"I mean, we can't hardly call her Urthemiel," Kirlin says with a smirk. 

I chuckle. "We call her Raven, of course." 

"You know," Gellert says. "I didn't mention this before, since you seemed so set on the name, but do you have any idea how horribly cliche that name is?" 

I smirk at him. "But I _like_ ravens." 

"No, seriously," Gellert says. "What are you going to call her. Raven Midnight Skywalker Dragonblood? That's horrible." 

"Besides, I thought your family had a plant theme going on for the women," Tom says. 

I glare at both of them. "Damn it, you guys. I like the name!" 

"It's a horrible name, Lexen," Gellert says. 

"Argh," Kirlin says, rolling her eyes. "If Lexen wants her to be named Raven, then she'll be named Raven, alright?" 

"Alright, alright," Gellert says, throwing up his hands. "I totally won't mention it again, then." 

I head out into the streets of Denerim with Tom and Kirlin at either side. It's a beautiful day, an overcast sky breaking apart into streaks of blue, the scent of rain still hanging in the air. A bright rainbow arches through the sky over the city. A symbol of hope, signifying the end of the storm. 

Every storm has an ending. All strife will pass. All troubles are fleeting. The tide rises, the tide falls. And life goes on. 


End file.
